


I'm not a princess (this ain't a fairytale)

by K_R_Closson



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged up characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Lady lives, Suicidal Thoughts, This is not what Catelyn meant to happen when she freed Jaime from his imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_R_Closson/pseuds/K_R_Closson
Summary: After Joffrey beheads Ned Stark, and his engagement to Sansa is broken, he decides to host a tournament, with the prize being Sansa's hand in marriage. When Jaime Lannister shows up at the last minute to win it, she's afraid she'll be stuck in King's Landing until Joffrey's cruelty does her in. But Jaime made a promise and, one way or another, Lannisters always pay their debts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The younger characters are aged up in this. Sansa's 18. Lady lived. Ned Stark did not. Not that this really falls into the scope of the story, but this is a magic-less AU. No Bran going out the window, no three-eyed raven, white walkers, etc. That would've made this story far longer than I wanted it to be. 
> 
> Warnings for Joffrey's sadism and Cersei's nastiness. 
> 
> Title credit goes to Taylor Swift's White Horse.

Sansa’s shielded from the sun under the canopy pitched for the royal family. On the first day of the tournament, Joffrey escorted her to her place beside him. He made sure to tell her she didn’t deserve to be by his side and she should find no honor in her seat. He simply wanted her up high, a prize on display as the men below battled for her. 

The day she begged for mercy and her father lost his head, she thought she had seen the worst of the king’s cruelty. Maybe she had for she feels nothing as two men from minor houses spar for the opportunity to advance in the tournament bracket. 

Her betrothal to Joffrey was broken, as the daughter of a traitor and sister to something worse, she isn’t worthy of marrying the king. He insisted on giving her a wedding regardless. She would gain a husband in the way every woman dreamed, by watching men fight for her favor.

Only...Joffrey was cruder in his words, and she knows this isn’t meant to be a kindness. Even if she knew Joffrey’s nature too well to believe this was some kind of gift, her hope that somehow, some way the gods would finally favor her vanished when Joffrey trotted out the Mountain as one of the contenders. 

The man is massive, and he looks at Sansa in a way which makes her skin crawl. Though, if the terrible things Joffrey giggles in her ear every time the Mountain has a bout are true, perhaps it would be a mercy to marry the man. She wouldn’t live through the wedding night and finally all of this would be over. 

Joffrey pours wine into her goblet and presses it into her hand. “Drink, my lady.”

She takes a cautious sip. Before Joffrey can urge her to drink more, she stands and approaches the edge of the box. Beneath her, two men stretch their muscles to prepare for the next bout. One is choosing to fight with a spear. His weapon is stuck in the ground, blade pointing up. 

What would happen if she lost her balance? If she tipped over the side of the box and--

A hand touches her arm, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks down at Tyrion Lannister, a man who sees too much. He covers his insights with laughter and jokes, makes himself noticeable but only by putting himself down. He hides in plain sight, a skill she never mastered.

“You’re blocking my view,” he explains as he draws her back to her seat. 

She smiles because she’s meant to, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“You seem very familiar with the tourney prize, uncle,” Joffrey drawls, his gaze drawn to where they touch. “Should I ask around for some armor?” 

“Marry me?” Tyrion laughs. “I think Lady Sansa has suffered enough. No, let one of the dashing knights win the young maiden’s heart. Those are the songs the people want to hear.”

“I prefer  _ The Rains of Castermere. _ ” Joffrey throws a triumphant look at Sansa even as behind him, his mother sucks in a sharp breath. “I wonder what songs they’ll sing once my grandfather has razed the North.  _ The Snows of Winterfell _ has quite the ring to it don’t you think?”

Sansa is quiet for a beat too long. Joffrey grabs her wrist, his grip tight and brutal as his sharp little nails dig into her. “What do you think of my song, Lady Sansa?”

“Winter is coming,” she breathes, barely more than a whisper.  _ You will never make it that far north. My brother will win this war and he’ll rescue me. Maybe he’ll even show up at the tourney, disguise himself, and sweep me away after he’s won. I’ll escape this horrid, wretched place and I’ll never complain of the cold again. _

***

On the third day of the tournament, a man in leather armor leaps into the ring as two men battle. He knocks them both off their feet and draws blood once, twice, three times, and plants his spear in the dirt. He gives a jaunty wave as Tyrion groans.

“Father might have Joffrey’s head for this,” Tyrion mutters.

Joffrey shows no sign of hearing as he bounds to the end of the box to greet the newcomer. “You’ve broken the rules.”

“I’m late to the party. I needed to audition.” The man gives a mocking bow. “Your invitation was for any man in Westeros to come and fight for Lady Sansa’s hand. I am a man. Do you need an audition for that as well?” He winks as outrage trickles through the crowd.

Sansa holds herself still and quiet as if the man won’t notice her. Near her, Cersei and Tyrion exchange heated words. 

“Father isn’t a traitor. Joffrey’s just having a bit of fun.”

“Joffrey is offering Dorne the key to the North. Please tell me you see the problem here.”

Joffrey snaps his fingers and Sansa obligingly rises from her seat and approaches the edge of the box. She’s greeted by jeers and whistles, but she stares at the newcomer and pretends not to notice anything else. He’s older than most of the competitors. What skin she can see has been kissed by the sun, darker than her fair complexion. 

He offers her a gallant bow. “Would it please the lady if I were to fight on her behalf?”

Sansa turns to Joffrey. “What say you, your Grace?”

Joffrey waves a dismissive hand. “Add him to the bracket. What is your name, ser?”

The man flashes a smile, quick and Sansa almost misses it. “Prince Oberyn Martell.” He twirls his spear. “How would you like to be a princess?”

_ Once, I wanted to be queen. Now, all I want is to go home.  _ She smiles sweetly, serenely, as if there isn’t a thought in her head. “I hope you win many bouts, Prince Oberyn.”

She sits in her chair again, but it’s difficult to slip away. She finds herself riveted by the bouts and the Dornish prince. He isn’t like the men in her songs, but he’s a skilled fighter, easily besting the men he fights against. When they’re easy battles, he shows off, and he has a wink or a roguish smile for her after each victory.

Her stupid, girlish heart flutters and she allows herself to hope. What if he wins? She knows her geography. Sunspear is far enough from King’s Landing to give her respite from Joffrey. More than that, Dorne is  _ free _ . They don’t pledge their fealty to the Baratheons. Perhaps, if Oberyn is such a fierce fighter, he would bring an army of men to help her brother. 

Maybe--

The Mountain has the next fight. He cracks the hilt of his blade over a man’s head and the man drops and doesn’t stir. The Mountain looks to Sansa, and she wishes for a fan to hide her face behind. She wishes for a wall as tall as the one in the North to put between herself and this man. 

“The bout isn’t over until third blood,” Joffrey reminds his champion.

The Mountain smiles, a cruel, jagged thing. 

“He’s not very elegant with his sword,” Joffrey tells Sansa as The Mountain surveys his victim. “But he always manages to get the job done.” He pats Sansa’s arm then leaps to his feet to cheer as the Mountain slices the man’s left cheek then his right. He turns to his king. Joffrey’s almost manic as he approaches the edge of the box. “That’s only two.”

The Mountain lifts his great sword and drives it down between the fallen man’s legs. “Three.”

***

Sansa is escorted to and from the tournament by the Hound. He gives her no space to even contemplate escape, not that she would know where to go. She has no friends in King’s Landing, no one who would help smuggle her out. 

Today, she turns toward the godswood and offers her prettiest smile when the Hound pauses and scowls. “Just a moment, please. There has been so much bloodshed.”

The Hound grunts and she slips deeper into the small woods. Once she’s hidden by the branches and their leaves, she allows her legs to give out as if she has spent all day fighting in a ring. She prays for her family, her mother and her brother, for little Bran and Rickon, that they stay safe in Winterfell, and for Arya, wherever she is. Alive, she must be alive. 

There is little hope for herself so Sansa turns it outward. Robb will continue to win battles and advance on King’s Landing. Her mother will offer counsel, help him win so he can mount a siege and rescue Sansa from her imprisonment. She was right, she has no friends within the city walls but outside of them? She has her family, she has  _ the North _ . 

_ They’ll come for me. Robb started a war for me. He won’t stop fighting until I’m safe _ .

A tree branch rustles and her gaze snaps up. The Dornish man slips into her sanctuary. He holds a finger to his lips, cautioning her not to scream. 

“Are you here to rescue me?” she whispers. Maybe he isn’t the man of her songs, and he isn’t her brother, but he could be her escape. She rises to her feet and steps closer to him. A flutter in her heart. He snuck into the godswood. He could sneak out again, but with her this time. Did he take a boat here? They can slip to the bay and disappear. “I’ll go with you. You don’t have to keep fighting.”

“I am here to fight,” he tells her. He cups her cheek. “You are beautiful, Lady Sansa, but you are not the true prize of the tournament.”

“I’ll go with you. Willingly.” Why won’t he take her and run? Dozens of knights here would.

“You shall. I’ll take you home with me once I have what I came here for.” He catches her hand and brings it to her lips. 

He leaves as he came, with a rustle of branches then he’s gone. She sinks back to the ground. She doesn’t understand.

***

Ser Loras is knocked out by Prince Oberyn. 

At least he isn’t mauled by the Mountain. 

More and more men drop out rather than face the giant who doesn’t play by the tournament rules. Sansa doesn’t begrudge them their cowardice. She isn’t worth the harm the Mountain could do. 

Margaery is in the box with them today, taking Cersei’s place on Joffrey’s other side. Joffrey turns to his betrothed, and Sansa wonders what sewage he’ll spew this time. “I’m sorry for your brother’s ousting,” he says, surprisingly genteel.

“Thank you, your Grace.” Margaery dips her head, the perfect picture of courtly manners. “I’m sure it will sting his pride for days to come, but he’ll recover.”

“You must be relieved, though. Now you won’t have a traitor for a good-sister. It really is for the best that the Mountain win. None of the good men of the tournament should be weighed down by the Stark name. Isn’t that right, Sansa?”

Sansa lifts her gaze from the careful study of her folded fingers. “Thank you, your Grace, for giving me the opportunity to forgo my traitorous name and bear a new one.”

“A name won’t be the only thing you bear.” Joffrey laughs at his own wit and calls for a fresh goblet of wine. 

Sansa braces herself for the Mountain’s next bout.

***

The tournament’s final battle is set to take place between Prince Oberyn and the Mountain. Sansa’s heart continues to hope even as her eyes tell her how this will end. The Mountain is bigger, stronger,  _ younger  _ and the Dornish prince hasn’t taken a single moment of this tournament seriously. 

She’s afraid he’ll die, and she’s furious he wouldn’t take her away when he had the chance. 

Today, Lady Margaery sits with her family, away from the royal box. Joffrey’s barbs have flown freely without a betrothed to temper himself for, but Sansa lets his words roll off her shoulders. After this afternoon, she will no longer be his to torment. She’ll be the Mountain’s or perhaps Prince Oberyn’s. She’ll be dead or she’ll be whisked away from here.

Either way, she will be free from the king.

The mismatched men size each other up. The crowd grows restless with the lack of action. A few begin to boo. A few brave, or foolish ones, throw food and small rocks at the men. The Mountain wipes jelly from his forehead and searches the crowd as if he wants to find the man who did it and remember him for later.

Prince Oberyn darts in with a grace that belies the lines around his eyes. He draws a line of blood from the neck, one of the few exposed areas of the Mountain’s body. The prince slithers out of the way before the Mountain’s return strike can find its home.

A squire flips the sign showing first blood in favor of Prince Oberyn.

“Luck,” Joffrey dismisses.

Next to Sansa, Tyrion fidgets, nervous. She knows he doesn’t want Prince Oberyn to win, something about politics and his father being displeased. If he’s nervous, does Prince Oberyn stand a chance? She sits taller in her seat as if to catch a better glimpse. 

The Mountain swings his great sword, cutting through Prince Oberyn’s leather armor and drawing blood. Joffrey stands and applauds, clapping even louder as the Mountain draws second blood.

The squire adjusts the board and Sansa’s hope lodges in her throat, threatening to choke her. This is it. This is the end. From the girl who was to be queen to the traitor’s daughter and soon-to-be wife of the Mountain. 

“Look at that sword,” Joffrey says, his voice hot in her ear. She wants to close her eyes and clap her hands over her ears but she can’t. She sits still and silent as if maybe he’ll forget about her. “I heard he split Elia Martell in two with that sword. What do you think he’ll do to you, Sansa?”

Prince Oberyn turns as if he heard them. With a cry, he darts forward. This time, he uses the long reach of his spear to punch the point of it through the Mountain’s throat. The man grunts as if he hasn’t felt the pain yet. 

Prince Oberyn yanks his weapon back. “Second blood,” he declares in the silence of the field. The Mountain claps his hands to his throat as if he can stop the rushing of his blood, but it pours between his fingers and even trickles out of his mouth. The prince nudges the small trail of blood with his spear point. “Is that third or should I stick him again?”

His voice is cold like Joffrey’s, something about this fight has hardened him. And...oh, Sansa hasn’t learned anything. Still a stupid girl after all this time. Prince Oberyn  _ Martell _ here to avenge his sister, Elia  _ Martell _ . He isn’t here for Sansa, but it appears he shall have her all the same. 

The Dornish man doesn’t wait for the king’s response. He picks up the fallen greatsword, hefts its weight in both hands and drives the point of it through the man’s chest. The Mountain falls with a thud, and Sansa swears the earth shakes. 

The tournament grounds are silent. Sansa chances a glance at the king. His eyes are wild, his lips parted, like a babe that hasn’t drawn the breath to scream yet. This will be a truly epic tantrum. Will Prince Oberyn leap to her rescue when Joffrey takes his rage out on her?

“We’re all dead,” Tyrion mutters.

Prince Oberyn raises his arms. “No cheers for your champion? What about you, Lady Sansa? Do you have any words for your future husband?”

“Not so fast.”

Sansa, and every other person here, turns to the new voice. Two figures ride up on horseback, both of them in armor. The first dismounts. He’s tall and broad, and there’s a sword clipped to his waist. 

“You’re too late,” Prince Oberyn says.

“The King hasn’t announced the winner. He decides if it’s too late.”

A sharp elbow from his mother has Joffrey recovering. “And who are you to arrive so late and challenge once the field is exhausted?”

The knight removes his helmet and laughter ripples through the crowd, soft at first before it rises to a thundering pitch. Sansa glances at Joffrey, wondering if this is another one of his cruel tricks. He’s slack-jawed again, but he recovers quickly enough. “A  _ woman _ ? What do you think you’d do with Sansa Stark?” He laughs, inviting the crowd to laugh with him.

The second figure dismounts. “Then I challenge for Lady Sansa’s hand.” He removes his helmet with a flourish, and the crowd gasps as they recognize the handsome man. “As to why we’re late, nephew, we were busy escaping Robb Stark’s army.”

Sansa sinks back against her chair. Is even this hope to be taken from her? She thought if Robb held out long enough, Tywin would be forced to trade her for his son. There would still be a war, but she’d be on the right side of it. But with Jaime Lannister back safely on this side of the battle line, there is no hope for her. 

“Of course you may enter the tournament. I’m sure you wish to repay the Starks for their recent hospitality.” Joffrey grabs Sansa’s arm and hauls her to her feet. “You should give my uncle a favor.”

Sansa’s hands flutter uselessly at her sides. “I have nothing to give, your Grace.”

“You have something.” He leers and pushes her down the steps until they’re standing on the ground. He drags her to the fencing which holds the ring where the bouts take place. “Uncle, come and let the lady give you her favor.”

Jaime Lannister is dirty from his travels, but even through the mud, his hair is golden, his features pleasant.  _ He  _ is like the knights in her songs except he is a Lannister, and she hates all of them. She wishes for poison so she can press her lips to his and end this. She wishes for a dagger so she can stab him and win the tournament herself. She wishes she were the little dove Cersei mockingly calls her so she can spread her wings and fly away from here.

Jaime stops in front of her. He bows and holds his hand out for her.  _ Is my brother alright _ ? she wants to ask. She places her hand in his, limp, and he’s forced to grasp it so she doesn’t slip from his hold. 

He stares at her with something like understanding.  _ You are no longer a prisoner _ , she thinks as he brings her hand to his lips.  _ But I am. There is no one coming to save me. _

“Give him a kiss,” Joffrey urges.

“I do not have that right,” Jaime says. “Not until I’ve won and said my vows.”

“What about your other vows?” Cersei demands from up high. “You are a member of the Kingsguard, forbidden from having a wife.”

Sansa looks past the Lannisters to Prince Oberyn who watches the exchange, amused. Blood sluggishly seeps from the wounds the Mountain gave him. Perhaps she’ll be his afterall. She always wanted to go south, and Dorne is as south as it gets. 

Tyrion’s curls poke over the wall of the box then the rest of his head. “After escaping the Stark army, your uncle deserves more than a lifetime of celibacy. Relieve him of his Kingsguard duties. Offer him husbandly ones instead.”

The crowd laughs and Joffrey nods, a smile splitting his face as if their encouragement is all he needs. “You are released from the Kingsguard, Ser Jaime. Now, go and fight for your first chance to fuck a woman.”

The crowd roars with delight while the armored woman looks ready to run the king through with her sword. 

Sansa ascends the stairs and takes her place for the final bout of the tournament. Tyrion sits beside her with a full goblet of wine. He drains it as the two men take their places in the ring. Sansa wordlessly hands her goblet over. She has no need of it.

***   
The bout seems to drag on forever. Prince Oberyn is injured from his fight with the Mountain, and the fatigue is obvious. Ser Jaime is no better off, if he has indeed traveled from her brother’s camp after being held prisoner, it’s any wonder he can lift a sword let alone swing it. 

Prince Oberyn draws first blood.

Then Ser Jaime. 

Joffrey has eaten a full meal and Cersei has drunk what must be all the wine in the kingdom by the time second blood is drawn.

Sansa’s gaze wanders across the field. She allows herself to imagine another voice calling out, a final challenge. It’s Robb, riding in with the banners flapping in the wind and an army of loyal northern men behind him. He sweeps his sword, taking out the tittering crowd. He hefts his crossbow and puts a bolt through Cersei Lannister’s throat. Sansa leaps out of the box and onto his horse. One of his men hauls a blubbering Joffrey down to meet his fate and--

“Third blood!” the squire announces.

Cheers fill the air and Sansa pulls out of her daydream to see Jaime Lannister triumphant. 

_ At least he isn’t Joffrey _ . It’s a cold comfort, but the only one she has. She isn’t leaving King’s Landing. She’ll be trapped here for the rest of her life unless...if Ser Jaime is no longer in the Kingsguard does it mean he has his title returned? Maybe they could go to Casterly Rock. It isn’t home but at least it’s away from Joffrey and his mother. 

She will be a dutiful wife, she’ll keep her husband happy, and maybe she can entice him to leave King’s Landing. Maybe he’ll turn out to be a gallant knight, willing to protect her.

Joffrey hauls her to the front of the box so the crowd can see her and yell even louder. She looks down at Ser Jaime, dirty and bloody and like he wants to bathe and fall asleep.

“I’m afraid you can’t claim your prize quite yet, uncle.” Joffrey’s gleeful as he shakes Sansa like a doll. “First, we must take you to the sept.”

“Do I have your leave to clean myself first?” Ser Jaime asks. “It’s been a long, hard road to return to you, your Grace.”

“I think your future wife likes you like this.” Joffrey pulls her close and whispers harshly in her ear. “Do you like him with the blood of your suitors on his skin? Or maybe you hope you’ll be able to get a whiff of your brother’s stench from my uncle’s hair when he fucks you tonight.”

Sansa isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say. Her throat is dry and her eyes are wet, and she bows her head and hopes she’s broken enough to appease Joffrey’s temper. 

“To the sept!” Joffrey shouts.

The people take up his cry, and they march through the city to where Sansa will be married.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early chapter and a long one!
> 
> Also at some point I got it in my head that beddings were public which reading fanfic has led me to believe is not correct but...I'd already written it so if awkward sex with an audience is not your thing then you might want to skim the middle part of this chapter.

Her future husband  _ does  _ stink. He’s dirty and unwashed, but she doesn’t wrinkle her nose as they stand side by side in front of the septon. He hasn’t leered at her, hasn’t grabbed her or hurt her. There’s still time, who knows what revenge he seeks after being held prisoner by her brother. She wants to believe Robb was kind to his prisoners, but it’s war. And she doubts there’s kindness inside a single man in Westeros. 

At the banquet, Sansa sits at her husband’s side and doesn’t touch her food. Cersei glares at them from one side of the table. The armored woman - Brienne of Tarth - glares from the other. 

“Were you betrothed to her?” Sansa asks.

“What?” Ser Jaime follows her gaze and laughs, startled, and all the louder for it. “Gods no. Have you seen her? No, she accompanied me south. We’ve bonded but not in the way, my lady.”

“Because of your vows to the Kingsguard.”

Her husband eyes her strangely. “Naturally.”

“Is that why she didn’t fear traveling alone with you? You’re an honorable man?”

Her husband laughs again. It isn’t nearly so joyous this time. “You know what they call me, don’t you? Kingslayer. You think I got that name by being honorable?”

_ Will you hurt me? _ It’s the question she wants to ask, but there’s no good way to do it.  _ At least he isn’t the Mountain. At least he isn’t Joffrey. _ “Prince Oberyn has left for Dorne?”

“He got what he came for. He’s bringing the Mountain’s body back to Sunspear. Let’s hope it whets his appetite for revenge.” Her husband shakes himself and seems to notice her lack of appetite. “You should eat something.”

“Are you afraid I’ll faint tonight? It might make things easier.”

“You think I would--” he can’t bring himself to finish the thought --”while you were  _ unconscious _ ? What kind of man do you think I am?”

_ It would be a mercy.  _ “You told me you aren’t an honorable man.”

“There are degrees of honor. Just because I’m no Ned Stark--” he winces, but it’s too late, the words have been said.

Sansa’s grateful for the time she’s spent letting Joffrey’s words roll off her shoulders. It means she doesn’t stiffen or flinch from her husband. “I should hope not. Not even the Targaryens married father to daughter.”

“We should dance.” 

Her husband holds his hand out for her and she stares at the grime and the blood before she places her own hand in his. As he guides her onto the floor, she realizes it’s the first moment of quiet they’ve had. There was the fight, the march to the sept, and now it’s simpering lords and frittering ladies, everyone hoping to curry favor.

Faced with her husband, Sansa doesn’t know what to say. She tucks herself against his body and hopes he’ll guide her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to clean myself. Perhaps tonight.”

She keeps her head on his shoulder so he doesn’t see her eyes narrow. “Before the bedding? I doubt our king would have the patience for it.”

“We won’t have a bedding.”

This time, Sansa does lift her head, if only so her husband can see her amusement. She has been a doll for Joffrey to torment ever since she was brought to King’s Landing. He won’t hand her off to a new keeper without one last indignity. “Everyone must bear witness. What is a wedding without a bedding?”

Strangely, her husband looks uncomfortable by the prospect of being with her. She isn’t sure what he thought marrying her would entail. Are the Kingsguard so naive? Even Sansa knows what happens on a wedding night. 

“You don’t want this,” Ser Jaime says.

She offers him a fluttering smile. “I love you as much as I once loved Joffrey.” Her husband stumbles back and almost trips her. She keeps her feet, no thanks to him and shakes out her dress. She glances up at up, hoping she appears contrite. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned my previous betrothal. Forgive me?”

Before her husband can answer, Joffrey saunters toward them. Unlike his mother, he doesn’t need to be two cups deep before his claws come out. “Are you worn out from your trip, uncle? It was quite a long way from the pretender’s camp. He hasn’t made it very far south. I can’t wait to send him the raven with the good news.”

Joffrey bounces on his toes. Sansa curls her arms around one of her husband’s and leans into him. “If you were tired you should have said so, my lord. We didn’t have to dance. We could retire.”

Her husband stiffens and tries to pull away, but Sansa holds tightly onto his arm. Joffrey grows even more pleased as he turns and bellows for assistance. “It’s time for the bedding!”

Sansa loses her clothes on the way to her bedchamber, but it isn’t the first time she’s been in a state of undress in front of the court. It is, however, quite possibly the last time. She hates the concept of a bedding, of everyone watching as her husband does...his duty to her, but she knows it has to happen. There will be a room full of witnesses. She will become Sansa Lannister, and maybe it will be the protection she needs. Maybe she will even become Lady of Casterly Rock, and she can leave this place.

It’s enough to put a smile on her face as she gazes her husband, equally unclothed. The rest of him is as dirty as his hands, dried mud smeared across his chest and his legs even though he wore clothes. He isn’t as solid as he appeared at first glance. He’s skinny as if he’s been underfed. Someone hands him a bowl of water so he can at least clean his fingers.

She watches him note the bruises on her skin, leftover from Joffrey and the Kingsguard.  _ Neither of us look well for our captivity. But we both survived. _

“I wonder, does a Kingsguard even know how to please his wife?” Joffrey crows, taking a seat beside the bed so he can watch everything.

Sansa’s eyes widen, remembering their audience. Before she can turn to face them, her husband’s fingers catch her chin and keep her gaze on him. She blinks, startled, but he offers a warm smile, and his touch is gentle. She offers him a hesitant smile of her own. 

He leans in and his beard rasps against her chin as he kisses her. His lips press against hers. It’s odd and she forgets for a moment that his mouth is on hers and she opens her mouth to breathe. He changes his kiss as if he likes when her mouth is open. She doesn’t know what to do now.

His free hand touches her side, skin against skin, and she startles, because no man has touched her like this before. His fingers skim over her ribs and move down to her stomach. It’s already bordering on too much when his fingers dip even lower to…

She gasps, she can’t help it. Her husband turns his head as if he wants to hear the sound. His first finger breaches her, and she pulls away then pushes into it, not sure which feels weirder. Her husband bends to whisper in her ear. “It’s alright. Relax for me. Can you do that?”

She shakes her head. She wants to be good for him, but she doesn’t know how. If she looks past his shoulder, she sees a room full of people who want her brought low and humiliated. She tightens up as if she can pull into her shell, but she’s naked, exposed except for her her husband shielding her from view. 

She curls a hand around his neck to draw him closer, she doesn’t want any of them to see her. Her husband speaks to her again, his voice low, and she focuses on the sound, not the words. She tips her head back, and he kisses the long line of her throat, making her shiver and clench around his finger. 

She tries her best to relax, she knows they don’t have a lot of time before Joffrey grows impatient. When her husband finally puts his...manhood...in her it doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. It doesn’t feel good, but it isn’t bad. He thrusts into her, grunting and panting until it’s over. 

She sinks back against the pillows, grateful it’s done. Can she hide beneath her husband’s body until everyone leaves?

“That’s it?” Joffrey asks. “It seemed quick.”

“Sometimes that happens when you have a beautiful woman beneath you.” Jaime brushes Sansa’s hair out of her face.

“Well, you can get up now.” Joffrey says. 

“Your Grace,” Jaime starts.

Joffrey narrows his eyes at being challenged. He puffs up as he stands, swelling with anger, and his Kingsguard dutifully line up on either side of him. Sansa has no desire to be ripped from her husband or his bed. She taps her husband’s shoulder. “May I have the blanket?”

Her voice doesn’t waver, and her husband doesn’t argue. He shields her until he can wrap the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. He holds it closed as he guides her to the side of the bed. Joffrey pulls his sword from his sheath and Sansa tucks herself against her husband’s chest even though he’s naked as a newborn. 

But Joffrey doesn’t swing his blade at her. He stabs the bed instead. Sansa doesn’t shriek or even whimper as Joffrey saws through the bed sheet until he claims a square of bloody cloth as his prize. “I shall send this by fastest raven to your brother. I’m sure he’ll be pleased with your successful marriage.”

“You are too kind, your Grace,” Sansa mumbles. Her thighs are wet with things she doesn’t want to think about. She wants to wash up and sleep, but there’s a hole in her bed and enemies in her room. 

“Enough,” Jaime says. “You have your proof. May my wife and I sleep now? It’s been a long journey to return home, and I’m looking forward to a proper bed.” He eyes the hole. “Perhaps a new room is in order.”

“This will do,” Joffrey says. He turns one last smug smile on Sansa. “Is there anything you would like me to say to your brother when I send my raven?”

Her husband tries to tuck her closer, and she allows him to. Her hair falls loose, covering most of her face. “Tell him thank you, your Grace, for sending me such a fine husband.” She turns her face into her husband’s shoulder and doesn’t move until the room is clear. 

“It’s alright now,” Jaime tells her. She knows it’s the truth, because he steps away from her as if she no longer needs protection. Holding the blanket around her, she walks to the meager belongings in the room. They aren’t hers and she doubts they belong to Ser Jaime. She searches until she finds a sewing pouch. 

“What are you doing?” Jaime asks.

Sansa motions to their bed. “There’s a hole in our sheet.”

“My lady, you don’t have to. I’ve been sleeping on the ground. As long as there are feathers in the bed, I’ll be happy.”

Sansa places the patch over the hole, over where the evidence was. Her stomach twists with the thought of her brother receiving it. Will he be unhappy with her? Will he change his mind and turn around and bring his army back home. Is she a disappointment to him? She stitches the best she can with the sheet still on the bed.

When she’s done, she frowns at the uneven stitches. “I can do better, my lord.”

“We’ll have a fresh bed made up tomorrow. For tonight, it’s time and past for sleep. Could I tempt you to share the blanket with me?” He offers her a teasing smile. 

She drops it, not wanting to displease him but then she’s naked and her thighs are damp and sticky, and she all but flees to the adjoining room. There’s a basin of water, and it’s cold as she splashes it on her skin but it’s better than nothing. She cleans herself the best she can. When she emerges from the room, a robe is hanging from the door. 

She glances at the bed, but her husband is already under the blanket, decidedly on one side of the bed and staring away from her. It’s an unexpected kindness and tears well in her eyes. It’s foolish that  _ this  _ is what makes her teary, but she’s especially glad her husband isn’t watching her as she wipes at her eyes. 

She climbs into bed beside him. Her breathing sounds too loud in the quiet of the room. She positions herself near the edge of the bed, putting as much space between them as possible. Perhaps it’s silly, there’s an ache between her legs from when he was  _ in  _ her, as close as two people can be, but now she wants her space. 

“Good night, my lady,” he murmurs.

“Good night,” she whispers back. Then she closes her eyes and sleeps.

***

She wakes to an arm around her waist and someone’s chest against her back. She freezes, all her muscles drawn tight. Has it finally happened? The guards outside her room, they were never meant to keep others out, only to keep her in. Who did they give access to her bedchamber? If it was Joffrey, he would’ve woken her sooner and in a cruel sort of way. 

She looks down. The man’s hand is clean from the fingers to the wrist. Above, its dirty and bloody and--

Oh.

Ser Jaime Lannister.

Because she is now Sansa Lannister. 

She eases herself from his grasp, grateful when he doesn’t wake. She isn’t prepared to face him, the man who escaped her brother’s camp to come and claim her. It means Joffrey sent a raven to Robb of the tournament, how else would Jaime know? It means her brother sent no man of his own to fight for her. 

But why would Jaime Lannister want her?

She glances at her husband, fast asleep in their bed. The covers have slipped to his waist. He doesn’t have the strong, muscled torso of the greatest swordsman in Westeros.  _ My brother did this to him. But even though he starved Ser Jaime and brought him low, he still had the strength to escape. If I were a man would I have escaped as well? Or would I have lost my head alongside my father? _

She finds a robe to cover herself with. There’s a washroom through one door. There’s a second door and when she opens it, there’s a small solar. She startles a maid who tries to curtsy with a tray in her hands. She almost spills the pitcher and cups to the floor.

“It’s alright,” Sansa tells her as the girl sets the tray on the table and curtsies again. 

“I did not expect you awake so soon. I can fetch food as well.”

Sansa glances back at the bedchambers. Through the door she can see her husband stir. His arm stretches out and for a moment she wonders if he’s looking for her. She turns back to the maid. “Could I trouble you for hot water? My husband had a long journey to me, and I wish to see him properly cared for.”

“A bath and something to break your fast with.” The maid’s glance travels beyond Sansa. “If it would not be too forward, my lady, I will ask the kitchens for a simple fare. Your lord’s stomach may not be ready to appreciate the fine food of King’s Landing.”

“Thank you.” Sansa places a gentle hand on the girl’s arm. “Your kindness and forethought will not be forgotten.”

The girl flashes Sansa a quick smile before she backs out of the room. Sansa studies the contents of the tray. She looks around to make sure she’s alone before she dips her finger in the pitcher. It’s juice. She pours herself half a cup and sips it slowly. 

In the bedchamber, her husband sleeps on. He is curled around one of the pillows now, and she can’t help but wonder if that’s how they looked when they slept together. Did he hold her with that much care? Perhaps, once he was asleep, his body only knew there was a woman in his bed. How would his body know who she was if his mind was asleep. Could he treat her with this care when he’s awake?

_ I am Lady Sansa Lannister now. But am I Lady Sansa of Casterly Rock?  _ She must persuade her husband that she is a good, diligent wife. She must coax him out of King’s Landing if she is to survive. What does she have to offer him? He has brought her safety, has given her a name which will protect her. And in return she can give him…

She sips at her juice. When she moves to watch her husband more clearly, she’s reminded of the soreness between her legs. First, she flushes and ducks her head, even though there is no one here to see her. But then she spots her husband again. He was in the Kingsguard. He took vows. And from the stories, he was quite young when he joined. Had he been a maiden the same as she? Or whatever the male equivalent is? 

All she has to offer is herself, she has no lands, no titles, no dowry. Could she be enough? She leans against the doorway, out of the way as the maids come in to run the bath. By the time the tub is full and the water is steaming, her husband stirs. He seems to realize he’s alone in his bed. He touches the pillow then sits up, a wild look in his eyes. 

“Good morning, my lord,” Sansa says, softly. He spots her and relaxes as if he had been worried she ran off. She offers him a smile. “I’ve taken the liberty of having a bath drawn for you. Would you like to be clean before we break our fast?”

“A bath?” His voice is rough from sleep, but she hears the longing in his words. She opens the door to the washroom, an invitation. She dips her hand in the water to test it. It’s hot but not scalding. She ties her robe tighter around her waist and waits.

Her husband groans when he spots the full tub. A flush rises to her cheeks as it reminds her of his sounds from last night. She knows he doesn’t desire hot water the same way he desires her, but he is pleased. Perhaps men enjoy being taken care of the same women do. She was raised a genteel lady, she can give him kindness and respect and care. 

Everything she has, she will offer to him in hopes he will stay pleased with her.

He’s as bare as he was last night, and he steps towards the tub, but she holds her hand out to him. He pauses and stares at her as if she’s a foreign creature. Perhaps she is. Another flush as she once again wonders if he was as untouched as she was last night. They can...learn together. She gestures to several buckets of steaming water. “A quick wash first, my lord.” She doesn’t want him to soak in his filth, not that she would ever phrase it that way to him.

She glances at the robe she’s wearing, too large and too fine to be her own. “This may get dirty.”

“It’s not mine,” he says.

It’s all the permission she needs. She wets a cloth in hot water and doesn’t wring it out. Her husband startles when she first touches cloth to skin. He steps away when he first catches her meaning. “You are no maid, my lady.”

“I am your wife.” She doesn’t step closer, but she doesn’t set down her cloth. “May I care for my husband?” When he doesn’t answer right away, she’s afraid she’s overstepped. “I can call for someone to assist you if I displease you.” She lowers her eyes the way Joffrey enjoys. 

But her husband puts two fingers under her chin to tilt her head up. He studies her for a moment, searching for an answer, but she already gave it to him. Finally, he nods. “Thank you, my lady.”

She washes his shoulders, dirty water running down his skin to the drain in the floor. She dips the cloth in the water again and washes his chest. There’s fine blond hair sprinkled over his skin. It’s not long enough to be matted from his lack of hygiene. More dirty water drips down. She cleans his back and his neck. She washes his arms. Then, she goes to her knees, uncaring of the water which seeps through her robe. 

She begins with her husband’s feet then moves upward. His calves, his knees, his thighs. He trembles faintly under her touch. She looks up once there is only one place left to clean. He’s looking down at her, a faint smile on his lips as if wondering what she’ll do next. She dips the cloth in the water again. She had his manhood inside her last night. Is it so different to touch it? 

“Please tell me if I overstep, my lord,” she tells him. Then, she touches the cloth to his belly, just above the coarse blond hair nestled about his manhood. Warm water drips down, and she follows its path with her cloth. 

When she’s finished, her cheeks are flushed and it isn’t entirely from the steaming water behind her husband. He had...reacted to her touch. Should she offer to do something? She glances up at him, and he drags a hand over his unkempt beard. Without a word, he turns away from her and climbs into the tub. She doesn’t make a move to stop him this time.

“I have not learned how to trim a beard,” she admits. “I’ll make sure there is a man to attend you after your bath. Unless you prefer to keep it?”

Her husband shakes his head. Then he closes his eyes and sinks deeper into the hot water. She leaves him to his soak and enters the solar. There is a large spread as if to make up for the plainness of the food. Her maid hovers as if she was waiting for Sansa to return and give her approval.

“Thank you,” Sansa tells her. She’s learned that kindness is a gift and one that’s easily given. “What’s your name?”

“Elyse, my lady. Is there anything I do for you?”

“My husband and I don’t seem to have any clothes. Might you find some for us? And fetch a manservant? Ser Jaime is in need of a trim.”

“Of course, my lady. There is a woman who hovers outside your doors. She wears armor and a sword strapped to her waist. Would you like her to enter?”

Her husband’s companion. Rescuer? Accomplice? Sansa doesn’t know enough about her to invite her into her rooms. However...she glides to the door to the hallway. When she cracks it open, the woman straightens and steps forward as if she’s been waiting for Sansa.

“You are my husband’s companion and guard?” Sansa asks.

Something crosses Lady Brienne’s face, but it’s replaced with a tentative smile as if Sansa is a spooked horse needing to be comforted. “I am yours, my lady.”

Is this another Lannister trick? She won’t willingly step into another trap. She keeps her own smile practiced and serene. “Would you please escort my maid as she completes her errands?”

Both women look surprised at Sansa’s direction but neither of them argue. A bow and a curtsy respectively and they’re gone. Sansa returns to the washroom where her husband looks so peaceful she’s afraid he might be asleep. Then she hears a sound, a terrible gurgle, and he opens his eyes and their gazes meet.

“You must be hungry,” Sansa says. 

“Bath first,” Ser Jaime says.

Sansa takes the tray from the solar and brings it to the washroom. She notes the way her husband hungrily tracks its progress and the bounty it offers. “Both at once?” she offers. She slices a thin piece of bread and tops it with cheese. She holds it out to him. He lifts his arms from the water and frowns faintly as water drips from them. 

Sansa holds the bite to his mouth, another offer. He stares for a moment before he part his lips and accepts the food. She prepares another bite, this time a cut of apple with a bit of cheese. There’s some kind of broth, but he isn’t an invalid. She doubts he would appreciate being spoon fed like a child.

He doesn’t seem to mind this, bits of food passed from her fingers to his lips. After the first few bites, he encourages her to eat as well. They don’t finish the tray by the time he decides he’s done. He doesn’t seem to have eaten much, and his strength won’t return without proper nourishment, but she doesn’t argue. She returns the tray to the solar. He holds his own juice and drinks the whole cup. 

His hair is the last part of his that’s still dirty. She touches his forehead, where skin meets hair. “Would you like me to wash your hair?” she asks.

He studies her again as if he doesn’t know who she is. Her mother used to care for her father. When he returned from visits to the Wall or the other houses in the North, she brought him before the fire and helped him warm up. When he returned from a hunt, victorious, with food to feed the whole keep, they would disappear to make him presentable for the great hall. 

“Yes,” he finally answers.

She pours water through his hair. When it isn’t enough. she works the dirt and grime out with her fingers. It takes several repetitions before the water runs clear through his hair. She runs her hands through the wet locks again, and her husband groans, as he did last night and this morning when he stepped into the water. Emboldened, she cards her fingers through his hair again. His tips his head back and closes his eyes. “If you are a dream, my lady, I ask that you never wake me up.”

Her face flushes, it must be a mottled ugly red, and she’s glad his eyes are closed. “No dream,” she promises. “But if you would like to return to bed, there is no one here would hold it against you.” Everyone in King’s Landing must have heard of his imprisonment and his return. Surely, they’ll allow him a few days of rest. A few days uninterrupted with his wife…

She fears the color will never leave her cheeks at this rate. This time, though, her husband catches her, his eyes open again. He turns in the basin so he’s kneeling, facing her. It means she can see the slow spread of his smile, the way he watches her flush spread down her cheeks to her neck and lower. Breathing becomes more difficult, her chest rising and falling with the effort. 

“Is that what you would like, my lady? To return to bed?”

She’s frozen, no good answer for him. If she says yes is she a good wife or a wanton woman? If she says no is she a tease and a disappointment? She stares at him, pleading with her gaze for him to give her the right answer. He stands, water running in rivulets down his body. Clean now, her gaze follows the same path as the water. Down and down until...she looks away. Her cheeks feel as if they are on fire. Is her face the same color as her hair? Does the color clash? 

He steps out of the tub and grabs a towel from the floor to dry himself with. He starts with his body and finishes with his hair. After he rubs the towel through his hair, it sticks up in every direction. It brings a smile to her face and gives her an idea. He enjoyed her hands in his hair earlier. Perhaps she can do it again. 

She leads him to the bed and sits. He lays down, thoughtfully pulling the blankets up to his waist. She rests his head in his lap and runs her hand through his golden locks. His eyes slip shut as she touches him and his breathing evens out. He’s nearly asleep when there’s a knock at their door.

“My lady?” Brienne calls from the otherside. 

“Enter,” Sansa says.

Lady Brienne leads Elyse and Podrick into the room. She doesn’t know why Tyrion’s squire is here, but the boy takes in the state of the room with wide eyes. Her husband’s eyes crack open and he looks like a lion, sated by the sun and deciding if it’s worth moving. 

Lady Brienne scowls even though both of them are covered. Even if they weren’t, they’re husband and wife. Everyone in the Red Keep knows by now that her husband bedded her last night. 

“I have clothes for you, my lady,” Elyse says, breaking the tense moment. She tilts her head toward the privacy screen. “May I help you dress for the day?”

“Please.” Sansa runs her hands through her husbands hair one last time before she slides out from under him. 

Elyse attends Sansa as Podrick and Lady Brienne attend her husband. She finds it odd that Lady Brienne is assisting her husband, but she supposes a lady who wields a sword doesn’t follow that same rules as a lady who commands the domestic arts. Still, as she steps out from behind the screen, dressed and her hair down, she frowns at the harsh expression on Lady Brienne’s face. Perhaps it’s time for her to hear the story of how her husband came to be back in King’s Landing.

But then Podrick finishes his work and her husband stands. His beard is trimmed quite short, as if it’s purposeful instead of a wild mane. His hair his shorter but still as golden. He is clean and in naught but breeches to avoid getting his clothes dirty. She’s seen her brothers and Theon in the same situation dozens of times, but it’s never made her feel like  _ this _ . She boldly stares. Her husband is handsome. His little smile at he touches his beard suggests that he knows it. 

“I suppose I should find out where we’re to be staying,” Ser Jaime says. It’s Podrick’s cue to grab his clothes for the day. It’s terribly forward, but Sansa watches as her husband is dressed, intrigued her feelings don’t go away as he’s clothed. 

There’s a slight frown on his face as he tugs at his clothes. They’re loose, and Sansa doesn’t want him to blame her for her brother’s treatment. She steps forward, guiding his hands away before he wrinkles his outfit. “I can have these taken in for you, my lord. But you’re here now. Proper meals, a return to your training, and you will fill out as you did before.” 

He touches her bodice, his hands on her waist. He frowns at how slender it is. “I’m not the only one who needs to fill out.”

Little dove, Cersei called her mockingly. Little and fragile, so easily crushed. She was forced to eat with her tormentors and it never gave her much appetite. But with her husband by her side...perhaps they could even take some of their meals in private.

Lady Brienne clears her throat, and her husband quickly drops his hands. 

“Yes, well, I have a full day ahead of me. Brienne, please stay with,” Ser Jaime stumbles over his words for a moment, “with my wife. Podrick, with me. First order of business, show me where my brother stays.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa is left with Elyse and Lady Brienne after the men leave. The three women exchange a look then sink into silence. Sansa has none of her things in this room, she isn’t even sure where this room is. Is it the bedding chamber? Did they only use it because Ser Jaime’s return was a surprise and he doesn’t have rooms of his own? If he’s uncle to the king will she be moved closer to Joffrey and Cersei?

She hugs herself. They cannot stay in King’s Landing. She needs to learn whether Casterly Rock is now her husband’s and how soon she can convince him to take her there. She needs a strategy. She almost laughs. Far away, her brother no doubt has a table of advisors as he pours over a map and strategizes for his war. But does she not fight a war of her own? There are not as many lives at stake, but it’s still important.

She looks to Lady Brienne and Elyse. It is not small council or a war council, but it is all she has. 

“You have been my husband’s travel companion,” she says, and Lady Brienne blanches. “What can you tell me? I wish to be a caring and dutiful wife, but I cannot unless I know what he has been through.”

“My lady,” Brienne protests.

“Please, do not worry about offending me. I know he was a prisoner of the pretender. However harsh your words are, Robb deserves them.” It’s barely even a struggle to say the words, she has learned Cersei’s lessons well. Sansa meets Brienne’s gaze evenly and urges her to speak.

Lady Brienne sighs, her large body appearing smaller as she breathes out. “It was a long journey to King’s Landing, and it wasn’t always easy, but we were determined to make it before the tournament was over.”

“Why?” She’d seen Ser Jaime when he came to Winterfell with the rest of the royal contingent, but they barely spoke. Had he seen her then and wanted her? Was he displeased when she was offered to his nephew?

“To rescue you, my lady.”

The story doesn’t make sense, but she gives Brienne a shy smile as if Ser Jaime is a knight in one of the great stories. 

“I thought you served Lord Renly,” Sansa says. 

“He was assassinated.” Brienne’s gaze darkens at the memory. “I suspected his brother was behind it, but there was no proof. And Lord Renly was the only one who took my vow seriously. Once he was dead, his army dismissed me. Your mother accepted me into her care.”

Sansa’s heart leaps at the mention of her mother. How is she? Does she worry for Sansa? Does she pray for her safe return every night? But wait...Sansa keeps her voice light. “You were a guest of my mother and Ser Jaime was a prisoner of my brother. How did you end up on a journey together?”

Brienne’s frown deepens. “That is a question for Ser Jaime, my lady.”

They return to silence. 

***

Ser Jaime is angry when he returns to escort her to their new chambers. She doesn’t understand until she sees where they are. They’re apart from the royal family, in rooms which are smaller than what he must be accustomed to. She tries to hide her excitement. If he is displeased with the king’s courtesy, he will be more willing to leave.

She tours the small rooms, a washroom, a solar, a bedchamber, same as where they were except now her things are here. 

“There is only one bedchamber,” Lady Brienne says, speaking the obvious.

“I am aware,” Ser Jaime says through gritted teeth. “A kindness bestowed upon me by my king.”

He is displeased with only having one bed? True, their chambers are small and out of the way, no doubt a  _ slight  _ by the king, but Sansa finds herself grateful for it. It will be easier to hide here and, easier to convince her husband to go somewhere he is both lord and wanted. 

“Is it not the southern custom for lord and lady to share rooms?” Sansa asks. Her mother had a room, she supposed, but she rarely used it. When her father was home, they were together. And when he was away, her mother kept his bed warm as she waited for him to return. “I know King Robert and Queen Cersei did not but I hope I please you more than the queen pleased our late king.”

Sansa saw the marks on Cersei’s face and arms, the same ones Sansa would later wear. Cersei is a cruel woman, but Robert had been a cruel man. She doubts he was a good husband. She hopes Ser Jaime will treat her better. Besides, with one bed, it will be easier for her to put her plan into action. He won’t try to sleep on the floor, will he? 

“I would never treat you the way Robert treated my sister,” Ser Jaime vows, enough anger in his words for her to believe him. He takes a deep breath and turns back to Lady Brienne. “There are a set of chambers next to ours for your use. There is a connecting door.”

“In case Lady Sansa needs my protection?” There’s a dangerous undertone to her words. 

Jaime laughs. “I’m sure that’s what my nephew had in mind.” He drags a hand down his face. He looks tired, no longer the golden knight who swept out of their bedding chamber this morning. Sansa wants to throw everyone out and let her husband rest.

After a moment, she realizes she can. “Lady Brienne, I’m sure you’re tired from your journey. Please, make yourself comfortable in your rooms. Elyse can assist you if needed. Podrick, would you please prepare a simple meal for my husband and I? We will dine privately in our solar tonight.”

Podrick glances at Ser Jaime, but it’s Lady Brienne who snaps at him. “Your lady’s given you an order.”

Podrick nods and hurries out. Brienne hesitates and Jaime smirks as he looks over at her. “My lady has also given you an order.”

“A suggestion,” Sansa says.

Neither of them turn to her, too caught up in their battle of wills. After a moment, Brienne turns on her heel and stalks to her chambers. Elyse has to hurry to keep up. Once all the doors are shut, it’s only Sansa and her husband, alone once again. 

“Do you know if the king has already sent our...proof of marriage to the pretender? I would like to send a letter telling him how well you’ve treated me. He is my brother, a relation which brings me shame, but perhaps I can persuade him not to attack my good-father.” She chances a look at her husband, hoping he won’t be displeased with how forward she’s being.

Her husband’s face is a complicated mix of emotions, but none of them seem to be anger with her. After a moment he says, “I would have to approve any letter you wrote and even then the king might not send it.”

“I’m tired of bloodshed,” Sansa says and she means it. She dreamed of her brother storming King’s Landing to rescue her. She even dreamed of him joining the tournament. But it was Ser Jaime who rescued her. They are married, bound together by the laws of the gods and men. Even if her brother were to win the war, she would not return to him. 

“Write your letter, my lady. I’ll do my best to see it sent.”

She moves to the solar where she sits at the writing desk. Her husband takes the recliner and appears to fall asleep.

_ Robb _ , 

She can’t call him brother, it will never make it past Joffrey. She can’t call him the pretender either or he’ll believe it to be another letter dictated by Cersei. It’s a delicate balance, writing him the truth in her own words while still being acceptable to the Lannisters who will read it first. 

_ I am not sure if our king has told you the happy news yet. I am no longer Sansa Stark but Sansa Lannister, wedded and bedded to Ser Jaime Lannister. The king was gracious enough to dissolve his vow to the Kingsguard so that he might take me under his cloak.  _

_ As you are no doubt aware, Arya is not in King’s Landing. I pray for her safety every day. Perhaps you have had some word. Regardless, Arya is not here and I am Sansa Lannister. You have no sisters in King’s Landing to rescue. It was noble of you to try and bring me home, but I am home now with my husband.  _

_ I implore you to treat with Lord Tywin and put an end to this war. The realm has seen enough death and winter is coming. We must be prepared for it. I know you are quite busy and will most likely not be able to write a return raven to me. But I will know of your answer soon, whether our realm will know peace again or will continue to fight a needless war.  _

_ Ser Jaime is a gallant knight, the kind of man I always imagined marrying. I hope our marriage serves as the beginning of the end of the conflict between Starks and Lannisters. I also hope that one day I may introduce him to my mother as my husband.  _

_ I’m sorry. Please forgive the ramblings of a young girl.  _

_ Please think on my words and consider granting my wish, _

_ Lady Sansa Lannister _

She reads the letter over as her husband dozes. Her signature seems too small, and she realizes this is the perfect time to get some answers to her questions. She has to wait until her husband wakes again and then it doesn’t seem right to ambush him while he is still sleepy.

Over, dinner, she brings up her letter. “I have written the first draft, I hope it is pleasing to you and the king. There is one thing I am uncertain of.”

Her husband looks up from his meat, cooked but plain, no spices or sauces, nothing to upset his stomach. 

“I signed as Lady Sansa Lannister. Is that proper?”

Jaime sighs as he leans back in his chair. “When I joined the Kingsguard, I gave up all titles, land, everything I had to my name, I gave it up for my vows to the king. But I’m no longer in the Kingsguard. I am free to marry and, I assume, to hold land and titles again. My father will be pleased. He now has a son to inherit Casterly Rock.”

Sansa’s heart soars. Casterly Rock. Freedom. “Is he worried for your home as he’s at war?”

“There’s a million Lannisters running around. I’m sure he was able to find one he trusted to watch our home.”

She tries not to let her disappointment show. Perhaps she won’t escape here after all. But what does King’s Landing have to offer Jaime? He led armies in the war. Will he be sent back to the front lines? Will he leave her here unprotected? Perhaps he could leave her at Casterly Rock if he has to fight again. She can’t be left alone with Joffrey and Cersei. She’s not sure she’d survive it a second time.

“Read me your letter.”

It’s an odd request, and she’s not sure it’s proper for dinner, but she does as she’s bid. She retrieves the letter and reads it aloud. She doesn’t look at her husband until it’s finished. His brow is furrowed, but he seems pensive, not angry. In case he’s working up to a rage, she quickly explains herself. “You fought bravely in the Lannister army, but I don’t want you to go back. I don’t want to lose you. I know men have their pride, but there must be something which can end this war without one side being destroyed.”

“I’ll think on it. In the meantime, there is nothing objectionable in your letter. I will present it to my nephew.”

“Thank you.”

They finish their dinner. It leaves them to their quiet pursuits again. This time, Sansa works on her needlework. Her husband is a Lannister, born into money and finery, but it doesn’t mean she can’t put her own touch on his things. If he does have to ride into battle again, he’ll go with his wife’s favor, something to remind him of her. 

Elyse enters with a quiet knock to light their fire and assist Sansa in changing into her nightclothes. They disappear behind the privacy screen and when they emerge, Sansa has a dressing robe lashed tightly around her nightgown. 

“Thank you, Elyse, that will be all tonight,” Sansa says. To her own ears, she sounds like a poor imitation of her mother, but Elyse doesn’t seem bothered.

“Would you like me to send for Podrick, my lady?”

Sansa glances at her husband. His clothes are fine but they’re far from complicated. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

Elyse curtsies and she’s gone. Her husband raises his eyebrows as soon as the door is closed. “I have no need of a squire or manservant?”

Sansa holds a hand out to him. He takes it, and she draws him toward their bed. Once they’re standing near it, she brings her hands to his clothes. “If it would please you, I would undress you tonight.”

Her husband makes no objection. He does brush her hair behind her shoulders, it’s loose, falling in gentle waves down her back. “You would deny me the same pleasure?”

She puts his hands on the belt of her robe. “My gowns have many tiny laces, not made for a knight’s strength or a man’s hands.” How many times has Joffrey or his Kingsguard ripped her clothes because it amused them? She doesn’t want her husband to even accidentally tear her garments. 

He runs his hands through her hair, and she tips her head back. It tips her face toward him, and he leans in to claim a kiss. She sighs into it, glad her plans worked. She winds her arms around his neck to bring them closer. He’s a grown man, but she’s tall, and it means he doesn’t have to bend too far to kiss her. 

She opens her mouth the way he seems to like and he groans and his hands grip her hair. Instead of hurting it feels  _ good _ and she presses closer to him. One of his hands drops to the small of her back, urging her even closer. Their bodies touch now, clothes between them but she can feel his hardness. He wants her, then. 

She smiles, relieved, and he pulls back to trace the curve of it with something like wonder in his eyes. She kisses the tip of his finger and her smile widens. “Now may I help you undress, my lord?”

Her fingers rest at the laces of his breeches. His manhood appears quite...eager to be free of its confines. Will it be different tonight, without an audience? Will her husband still be as gentle? Will he still whisper to her? Will he take longer without worry of Joffrey’s boredom?

For a moment, she feels guilty. He is the son of Tywin Lannister, the man who wars against her brother. He’s the uncle of Joffrey, the boy who torments her. He’s the sister of Cersei who wants to see Sansa suffer. She shouldn’t want him. But no one is coming to save her, she knows that now. He is the key to her safety. Men do terrible things during war. Can’t women do the same?

Between the two of them, Ser Jaime is quickly disrobed. He stands before her, unashamed of nakedness. When she can do nothing but stare, he laughs quietly and puts his hands on her belt. He undoes it and she shrugs her shoulders and the garment falls to the floor. It leaves her in nothing but her nightdress. It does little to cover her, and her husband’s gaze roams. 

“We can sleep,” he says when he finally looks at her face. 

_ We need a baby. I need your affection _ . She finds a brave smile. She can’t manage seductive yet but perhaps she’ll learn. “At some point, I hope. Unless…” her gaze is drawn down between his legs. “I don’t know much about the act. Can you? All night?”

Jaime surprises her by laughing, bright and loud,  _ happy _ . “We can try sometime, my lady. Not tonight, though.” He touches her thigh and slides his hand up, rucking her dress up with it. She tenses without meaning to, afraid of baring herself completely for him.

He notices, she can tell by the way he pauses his attentions. But he doesn’t step away. He doesn’t ask her questions she doesn’t want to answer. Instead, he kisses her again. They kiss until her body relaxes, pressing close to his again, because it isn’t confused. He is gentle and kind and when he lifts her up, he places her on the bed rather than tossing her here. 

She spreads out on their bed and watches as he kneels astride her. He touches her waist, seemingly pleased even though the thin fabric of her dress keeps him from her skin. He kisses her lips and pulls away before she’s had her fill. He flashes her a smile when she tries to chase after him, but he doesn’t give her what she wants. He kisses the corner of her mouth, the curve of her jaw. He moves down to her neck, and she gasps and squirms because it feels good. 

When he moves lower, her first gasp is one of shock. He kisses her breast through her dress, soaking the fabric with his spit. This feels good too, and she claps a hand over her mouth before an unladylike moan spills from her lips. She can’t stop the noise completely, but at least it’s muffled. 

Her husband’s gaze snaps to hers. She stills, wondering how she displeased him. His grip is gentle but insistent as he pulls her hand from her mouth. “I wish to hear how I please you.” He strokes her hair when she looks to protest. “How else will I know what to do again?”

Her protests die on her tongue and he grins, pleased, before he ducks his head back down. She doesn’t understand how touching her up here makes her feel like that down there, but in no short order she finds herself squirming again. She rubs up against her husband, and they both pause. He lifts his head to meet her gaze, and her eyes widen, hoping she hasn’t done something wrong. 

He rests his head between her breasts. She can feel him breathe before he speaks. “I am quite certain I will not manage to keep you up all night.” 

Her heart beats wildly in her ears and then she realizes he made a joke. A giggle escapes her lips, followed by a cascade of more. He is pleased with her. He doesn’t think her a stupid girl. She cards her fingers through his hair and tugs him up so she can kiss him with laughter still on her lips. 

Like their first time, he prepares her with his fingers first. Only this time, Joffrey isn’t sitting impatiently by their side, demanding to see her pain. Her husband takes his time, slow, deep strokes, making space inside her for his manhood. His two fingers reach deep, his thumb brushes over her outsides and--

“Oh,” she breathes as her body shudders and shakes at his touch. She curls his hands over his shoulder. “My lord, please. Again?”

Another pleased smile, as if he enjoys making her happy, and he does the same thing with his thumb. She arches her back, and she loses the sight of his smile and he ducks his head to her breasts. Her husband is seemingly everywhere, hands and mouth and she can’t do anything but try and press closer. 

It’s terribly selfish, and she vows to give him anything he asks in return if only he leads her to the end of this path. She doesn’t know what it is, she doesn’t even know if he does. But she feels good, and she urges herself closer. And then she feels the sting of his teeth, sharp and biting, and her protests turns into a groan as her body clenches around his fingers and she...oh, she hopes she does that again and again.

She’s sure her cheeks are red, and her hair is mussed from her thrashing, but her husband doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles at her as he gently pulls his fingers out of her. They’re wet and she stares, because she did that. He did that to her. Women don’t produce seed like men. What has he done to her?

“Men and women are made are made to lie together.” He touches her entrance again, and she’s still wet down there. Should she be embarrassed? Her husband doesn’t seem displeased. “This makes it easier.” He offers his a smile before he sheathes himself in her. 

He slides in and she can’t help but nod because yes, this is much better than their first time. It’s still an odd feeling, being filled like this, but it doesn’t hurt. If her body is meant to ease the way for his, perhaps men and women are supposed to be together. And if she’s with her husband, it can’t be wrong to enjoy it? Ser Jaime certainly seems to like the act. 

Her nightgown is around her waist now, a poor attempt at modesty. And what does she have to hide from husband? She is his and he is hers. Those are the vows they made to each other. She guides his mouth to hers and kisses him as his hips rock against hers. He’s careful at first, giving her time to grow used to him. The first time his hips snap forward, her mouth breaks from his on a gasp.

He does it again, and she scrambles to kiss him again, to pour her sounds into his mouth where he’ll guard them for her. But he ducks his head to smile against her neck. “I told you, I want to hear you, my lady.”

He fits a hand between them and touches her in a way that makes her moan. He fucks her harder, but he doesn’t hide his gaze. He stares at her, his gaze growing more intense with each moan and gasp that falls from her lips. When she says his name, he rewards her with another special touch. Soon she babbling nonsense, pleas and his name. She finds her end again, squeezing tightly around him, and it’s his turn to groan as he drives his hips forward one final time. 

He empties himself in her then flops to his back on the bed. She wiggles a pillow free to put under her hips, raising them from the bed. He turns his head and gives her a questioning look. There’s sweat on his upper lip and his forehead. 

He is her husband but she still blushes as she explains. “I want your seed to catch inside me. I can’t let it out.”

Her husband makes a sound like a man who has been speared by a boar. His manhood gives a twitch, and he throws an arm over his eyes. 

“Is that wrong, my lord?” Sansa ventures. Her septa told her of a woman’s duty to her husband. It was never this pleasant when she described it but her septa took vows of celibacy. She’s never experienced this for herself. Maybe she does think it’s duty only. While the bedding details were sparse, her septa had a lot of advice on getting with child. But again, her septa could have no children. What did she really know of it?

“My lady, I promised you sleep tonight.”

Sansa looks over at him. His face looks pained, but she can’t imagine what she’s done to harm him. “Would you like to sleep now?”

He looks at her, and she can only imagine what he sees. Her hair a mess, her nightgown rumpled, her hips tilted up to keep his gift inside her. It is quite undignified. Perhaps this is why he wanted separate bedchambers. 

“I can clean myself and we can sleep?” she offers.

Her husband groans and rolls on top of her. She’s startled at first and a small sound escapes her lips. But all he does his cup her down there, his palm against her skin as if he can keep his seed from leaking out. “You are going to be the death of me,” he tells her.

When he kisses her, it’s with the sharp sting of his teeth, but she finds that she likes it.


	4. Chapter 4

She is the first one awake in the morning again. Her body buzzes with all the places he touched her last night which is most of them. Her breasts are tender and her lips tingle. She feels greedy and a little wicked as she thinks of offering herself to her husband again this morning. He is a man, surely he must be even more eager than she is?

Robb and Theon and Jon talked of little else but what lay between a woman’s legs and how best to get it. And her husband’s had to wait much longer than any of them. She’s tucked against his body, his arm around her waist again. He mumbles in his sleep and moves closer. She can feel him, not quite hard but not soft either. 

Would he want it in the morning? 

What else do they have to do in King’s Landing? 

She turns herself so she faces him. He stirs, but she closes her eyes and pretends she’s still asleep. He nuzzles her, mostly asleep himself. His beard, short as it is, tickles against her skin. She almost giggles and gives herself away. 

His mouth finds hers and she opens herself to him. It’s different like this, light trickling in through the windows, both of them heavy with sleep. There’s nothing urgent in his touch as if they really do have all day.

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing, long enough that he’s hard against her thigh, and she’s wet again, her body ready for him, when suddenly he pulls back, alarmed. He looks fully awake now as she opens her eyes to look at him. “My lord?”

He touches his mouth and groans. “I apologize, my lady. I thought I was having a pleasant dream.”

“About your wife, I hope.” She offers him a teasing smile but he doesn’t return it and her heart sinks. Has he already grown bored of her? Already dreaming of other women he could entertain in their bed? Perhaps  _ this _ was the true reason he wanted two bedchambers. 

She pulls away from him and picks her discarded robe up off the floor. She makes it to the washroom before she starts crying. At least Joffrey taught her to keep her tears quiet so she doesn’t disturb anyone with them. 

***

She kneels in the godswood and wonders that despite being married now, not much has changed since she came to King’s Landing. Still seeking refuge in the godswood. Still stupid and powerless. Everything hinged on Ser Jaime finding her desirable. If he doesn’t then she’s just another woman trapped in an unwanted marriage. 

Why hadn’t Prince Oberyn tried harder to win the tournament? Had he seen through her as well? He was a prince, what did he want with Sansa as a wife? But why had Ser Jaime come for her? If it were out of revenge for her brother’s treatment of him then why had he been so kind?

He’s a Lannister. Sister to Cersei and uncle to Joffrey. The same monstrous blood in their veins is in his as well. He presented himself as kind, as her savior so it would hurt even more when he wasn’t. 

She buries her face in her hands and weeps, because she doesn’t know what else to do.

“...all day?”

She quiets at the sound of voices. The last one was male and her shoulders stiffen before she remembers Brienne. The woman her mother sent to protect her. Unless that is also a cruel trick. 

“Yes.” Brienne’s reply is clipped and short. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing! Okay, a little something. But I stopped! You should be proud of me not glowering like a hulking beast.”

“I should release her direwolf from the kennel and let it judge your treatment of its lady.”

Lady. Sansa’s heart aches for her pet. By some miracle, Joffrey didn’t ordered her slaughtered when Sansa became a prisoner. It was a favorite threat of his, one of the few which could always draw a reaction. 

“We should release it anyway. My wife needs all the protection she can have here.”

Brienne snorts in a most unladylike fashion. “You must have angered her quite terribly if you’re already giving such lavish gifts. Will you make me guess what you did?”

There’s a long silence and Sansa wonders if she’ll hear her husband’s side of this morning or not. Will he admit to Brienne that his affections are with another? Is it Brienne she’s being discarded for? That would be a cruel joke indeed. 

“It has been a long time since I shared a bed with another person. I woke this morning in a...state, with a beautiful woman-- _ my wife _ \--in my arms.”

“And?” Brienne’s amusement is gone, replaced by a deadly curiosity.

“And nothing. I behaved myself like a gentleman and put an end to it.”

“Your wife has not spent the day crying because you were kind to her.”

“You don’t know that.” A pause. “Do you know that? Have you spoken to her?”

“I thought it best to avoid the subject. Depending on her answer, you might end up with a life of celibacy after all.”

“That’s not funny, Brienne.”

“Am I laughing, ser?”

Jaime sighs. “I don’t know what to do. This wasn’t my plan, and it’s gone decidedly sideways.”

“You made a promise. Keep it.”

“As if it’s that simple. As if I’m not called Kingslayer and Oathbreaker for a reason.”

“You have me to help you. Have you determined the best route?”

“We can’t discuss it here. But I’m thinking Lannisport. We can tell everyone we’re going to Casterly Rock while I recover.”

“You do need to recover.”

“Are you worried about me? I knew you were getting soft.”

There’s a thump and an outraged noise as if Brienne hit her husband. Sansa muffles her laughter in her sleeves and then rises to her feet. She makes enough noise to remind the two whisperers that she’s here. It also gives her husband enough time to flee.

She smiles at Brienne. “Would you take a walk with me? Praying is good, but I need some activity.”

“Of course.”

***

She spends the day out of her chambers, and she’s rewarded when she returns. She opens the door and Lady bounds toward her, knocking Sansa on her back in her excitement. Sansa laughs and accepts the heavy weight on her chest and the slobbering kisses. Finally, Lady sits back on her haunches and allows Sansa to sit up as well. 

Brienne’s watching indulgently and her husband is there as well, and Sansa’s face drains of color. No proper lady should make a spectacle like that. She hurriedly gets to her feet and brushes the wolf hair off her dress the best she can. 

“I apologize, my lord.”

He waves off her words. “I’m glad to see my gift so well received. She never should have been imprisoned. I hope she hasn’t suffered too much at the hands of my nephew.”

Sansa doesn’t dare try and respond to that, not with all the thoughts and feelings churning inside of her. Instead, she moves to the solar and Lady obediently trots behind her.

Elyse must have known of Jaime’s errand, because there’s a plate of food meant for a direwolf. Sansa takes the plate and her wolf to the corner where she can kneel and feed morsels to her pet, all while apologizing for her mistreatment.

***

After Lady has curled up in front of the fire to sleep, Sansa approaches her bed. Her husband is already in it, and he watches her, curious, as if he doesn’t know what she’ll do. Perhaps he does intend to be unfaithful, but no amount of tears can help her. She must don her armor again, shield herself in ice until she can feel nothing. 

But first...she turns toward her husband. “Would you like me to thank you for your gift?” In case he doesn’t catch her meaning, she reaches a hand toward him.

He captures it before it can reach its mark. He presses a kiss to her palm then set her hand down on the mattress. “There’s no need. It’s a gift. You owe me nothing in return.”

Sansa considers this then, judging her husband to speak the truth, turns away from him so she can sleep.

***   
It takes longer than Sansa expected for her enemies in King’s Landing to find her. Her husband is healing quite nicely, he has put on weight and has begun to spend time in the training yard again. She’s walking with Lady, hoping for a glimpse of her husband when the queen mother finds her. 

Sansa leans down to whisper to Lady then pats her direwolf. The creature bounds off, leaving Sansa alone with Cersei. Well, as alone as Cersei ever allows herself to be. There are guards stationed, no doubt, but Sansa doesn’t hear any sound to suggest Lady has been caught or harmed.

“Very obedient,” Cersei says. “Just like her mistress.”

Sansa curtsies. “Good morning, your Grace.”

“Come, no need for such formalities. We’re sisters now.” Cersei catches Sansa’s arm and pulls her close. She brings them to the edge of the training yard. “Married women who can keep each other’s confidences. Tell me,  _ sister _ , how do you find your husband?”

“He is brave and strong,” she answers.  _ Kind _ , she thinks but Cersei would laugh so she doesn’t say it. 

“Brave and strong?” Cersei laughs anyway. “Is he strong when he takes you at night, little dove? Is he brave when he beds his girl-bride?” Her fingers dig into Sansa’s arm but her words hurt more than her nails. “It must be so hard for him. Do you reward his efforts with your sniveling? Or are what the guards say true? Do you moan like a whore for your husband?”

_ You are Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and you have ice in your veins. She cannot hurt you if you do not let her.  _ Sansa offers her most vacant smile. “I am grateful for my husband.”

Cersei growns angry as Sansa doesn’t give her the reaction she wants. “I think it’s time you write to your brother again. You can tell him all the ways your husband fucks you. Thank him for not ending his captive’s life.”

Sansa has no choice but to go with Cersei into the castle. She dutifully writes out the words Cersei dictates to her. It takes so long, Cersei demands her presence at dinner. King Joffrey and his betrothed at here. So are Loras Tyrell and Lady Olenna. Tyrion and also Sansa’s husband. She enters the room behind Cersei, her head low. Is there a way she could trip and drop the letter into the fire? No. Perhaps she could drop it in her wine goblet.

Or…

Her gaze finds Tyrion. Sansa approaches the Hand of the King and drops into a curtsy befitting his station. “For you, my brother,” she says, offering the scroll to Tyrion. She looks to Cersei as if she’s a dog looking for praise. She knows she looks foolish and empty-headed, but it’s worth it when the woman’s lips curl into a sneer. 

“What a loving family,” Lady Olenna says even as Cersei’s outburst escapes her lips, “You  _ idiot _ .”

Silence falls over the table, waiting to see who will break it first. Certainly not Joffrey, seated at the head of the table, his eyes wide, excited, in hopes of some kind of entertainment. 

“You said to write to my brother. I only have one.” Sansa’s smile no longer feels forced. “One brother and one sister.” She takes her seat next to her husband. “Cersei joined me at the training grounds today.”  _ See what happens when you leave me alone? People find me. They hurt me. Please, take me away from this place. _ “Did you know she is even so kind as to have guards outside out bedchamber in case anyone still holds hatred in their hearts for the daughter of a traitor? Or perhaps I should thank my king for the protection?” Sansa casts a look to the head of the table.

“Guards?” His lip curls and he looks strikingly like his mother. “Wasted on _ you _ ?” He turns to Cersei, fury in his gaze. “And you approved this foolishness?”

Cersei’s smug smile slips as she realizes her battle is with her son now, not Sansa. She reaches for her son’s arm, hoping to instill sympathy, but he pulls himself out of her reach. Sansa tucks her smile deep down. 

***

She’s feigning sleep when her husband allows his brother into their chambers. “The solar,” Jaime whispers. Even after they move rooms, she can still hear them. They don’t whisper now that they’re in a different room and they think her to be sleeping. 

“I hope you have a plan,” Tyrion says. “This letter wasn’t meant for me. It was written for a different brother. Our sister is cruel, and she’s determined. Your wife won’t last long, even with your marriage. Perhaps because of it.”

“Father’s requested I join him once I’ve regained my strength.”

“And you’re going to bring your wife with you into war? That’s almost as stupid as leaving her here with Cersei and Joffrey.”

“I never said I was going to father.”

There’s a long silence. “Jaime?” Tyrion asks.

“You asked if I had a plan. I do. Well, Brienne does. You and I both know I’m not one for planning unless it’s on a battlefield. Do not ask me what it is. You’ll be safer for your ignorance. Just know, in case something happens, for the first time in my life, I am going to do the right thing.”

“I will not ask any questions, but you best speed up your plans. After tonight, our dear sister will want to make sure someone hurts, and your wife is her favorite target.” Tyrion’s voice grows distant as if he’s leaving. “And Jaime? This won’t be your first good deed.”

***

Sansa stays in her chambers unless Brienne and Jaime accompany her for short excursions. She appreciates the protection, but her cage has grown too small. She needs to see the trees again, breathe fresh air. She never thought she would grow tired of embroidery and yet…

Just when she thinks another day and she might go mad, things change. She’s woken in the middle of the night with a hand over her mouth. Her husband hovers over her, and she goes still, uncertain what harm he means to do to her. 

He holds a finger to his lips and waits for her nod before he pulls his hand back. He thrusts some clothes at her, thankfully simple ones as she doesn’t have a maid to assist her. He clasps a cloak around her shoulders and draws her hood up to cover her hair. He hands her a pack and leads her out their door.

She doesn’t know what’s happening, but she swore before the gods to love and obey her husband so she follows him through the darkened keep. Her turns her down a passageway she’s never seen. It isn’t until they end up in the kitchens that she realizes it was a servant’s corridor. 

She hurries her steps and in short time they’re at the stables where Brienne has three horses saddled and ready to go. 

“Do you know how to ride?” Jaime whispers.

Sansa nods. She never cared for it the way Arya and Jon did, but her father made sure all his children could ride a horse. Lady pokes her head out of one of the stalls. Jaime gives Sansa a hand up onto her horse. He swings onto his without any assistance.

She has enough sense to know he didn’t want to take her on a romantic moonlit horseback ride which means she has enough sense to keep her questions to herself while they’re in King’s Landing. It’s still dark when they leave the city. Judging from the men staggering about the streets it isn’t as late as she thought. Late enough to give them a head start.

A head start on what?

Is this because of what Tyrion said? Cersei and Joffrey want to hurt Sansa and the only way to protect her is to leave? But if so, why aren’t they taking the goldroad to Lannisport and Casterly Rock? They’re on the kingsroad. Are they going to war after all?

Sansa clutches her cloak tightly around herself to fight off the night chill.

They ride until the first light begins to shine. Her husband finds them a small farmhouse. They dirty the horses and stable them so they can rest. They’re given a place to sleep in exchange for gold.  _ I suppose I truly am a Lannister _ .

They sleep during the day. After a hot meal, they saddle the horses and continue their journey. If they’re going to Tywin why do it under the cover of night?

Sansa has many questions, but she won’t be the first to speak. 

***

On their fifth day, they hide away in an inn. The horses are stabled down the road, and they approached on foot, their hoods drawn up. They’re all recognizable, the golden Lannister heir, the imposing lady knight, and Sansa with her bright red hair. 

They hide themselves the best they can. Sansa sleeps during the day as she’s grown accustomed to. When she goes outside to relieve herself, she overhears two men as they piss against the tavern wall.

“Aye, the queen bitch is tearing apart the city for her brother. One rumor has him going to the big old rock. Another has him on his way to Essos.”

“Essos?” the second scoffs. “What in the seven hells would a Lannister do there? He’s returning to the war to end the fucking thing.”

“With his blushing bride? She isn’t meant for war. I’ll tell you what she is meant for.”

Sansa slips back to their rooms before she has to hear more of their talk. Brienne and Jaime both look relieved when she joins them again. She doesn’t understand. Her husband is Lord Tywin’s heir. Why are they skulking about? He can’t truly be that afraid of his sister or her son, can he? He’s supposed to be the greatest swordsman in all of Westeros.

But what is one man against the entire Kingsguard? 

Brienne nudges Jaime.

He sighs. “Tonight, when we ride.”

***

Her husband rides his horse beside her tonight. There are few people on the road this late, but she supposes with Jaime and Brienne and Lady, she’s as safe as she can be. Anyone who tries to rob them will surely regret it. 

“I’m sure you have questions,” Jaime says.

“Many.”

“I was a prisoner of your brother’s. Your mother wanted to trade me for you and your sister. Your brother refused. Then Joffrey sent the raven boasting of the tournament he was holding for your hand. Your mother freed me to fight and win with the promise that I would bring you back to her. She sent Brienne to make sure I kept my word.”

Sansa stares, unable to believe it.

“I doubt she intended for us to actually marry. If they hadn’t dragged me to the sept from the tournament ring, I would’ve found a different way.”

“You wish I weren’t your wife?”

“I was sent to rescue you, and I married you. There are no friends of Lannisters on the Stark side of the war.”

“You’ll have me,” Sansa says. If they are in fact going to her family. If they even make it. She’s allowed herself to hope before and it never ends well. She’ll guard her heart this time. 

“You know, my father was quite pleased that I managed to marry you. I’ve never understood how things always seem to happen the way he wants.” After not speaking for so many nights, her husband appears to have found his voice. “King Aerys named me to the kingsguard to spite my father. He took his heir away from him, left him with a daughter and a son he despised. After I killed the Mad King, I swore myself to Robert to protect my sister, and because I knew it would make my father angry.”

Her father spoke of Jaime Lannister, always with narrowed eyes and hard words. To hear the man himself speak so cavalierly of killing his king...she wonders what truly happened that night. 

“I was taken captive by your brother, and I imagine my father was incandescent. He always assumed one day I would set aside my cloak and obey him. It would almost be worth the look in his face to tell him Catelyn Stark and Joffrey managed to do what he couldn’t.”

“You won’t tell him?”

“I’m going to deliver you to your mother as I promised. Then I imagine I’ll be killed on the spot.”

Sansa can’t help her gasp. She has no love in her heart for Lannisters, but Jaime is her husband. Before the gods and men they’re pledged to each other. He can’t just die. She won’t let it happen.

“All he cares about is his legacy.” Jaime scoffs. “There’s hundreds of Lannisters, but this particular line will die out here. All the terrible things he did to keep our family alive and strong and we’ll end because of his stubborn fucking pride.” He glances at Sansa. “Pardon my language.”

She shrugs. “Why his pride?”

“After my mother died he swore never to take another wife. He’ll not continue our line. Tyrion is a trueborn son, but never a legitimate one, not in my father’s eyes. And we’ve covered my situation.”

“Your father cares about a grandchild more than anything else?”

“He cares about the family name. He’s destroyed his own bannermen for making him look weak. He married his daughter to a conqueror to make her queen. And now he’s fighting this war, because he won’t back down against a boy king. Hear us fucking roar.”

Brienne clears her throat. 

***

The ride north is slow. They spend of lot of time hiding. The food is decent, but there is no opportunity for baths or proper pampering. Sansa never thought of herself as spoiled, but perhaps she was, because it is a hard, difficult trip. She doesn’t complain when her muscles are sore from riding. She doesn’t complain when the stew is cold or the beds lumpy, but she wants to.

_ Better this than King’s Landing _ , she reminds herself. Sometimes, they stop in little villages for days. If Jaime or Brienne deem it safe then they trade their labor for supplies. Rarely do the villages have any coin. Sansa knows they still have some, but there must be a reason her husband wants to save it. 

She doesn’t question. She learns to treasure when they’re stationary for a few days, soaking up the opportunity to rest. Brienne and Jaime both offer their strength or hunting skills. Sansa mends and stitches, does any domestic chores she can. She’s embroidering a dress, there’s a festival approaching her hostess wants her daughter to attract the gaze of every eligible suitor. 

Sansa is accustomed to making her own dresses. She can make something beautiful for Mirayne. Mirayne is currently at the dirty looking glass, the only one her family owns. She piles her straw colored hair on top of her head and sighs as she lets it drop back down. “I wish my hair was like yours.”

Sansa touches her hair, long and red, braided to keep it out of her way and from becoming impossibly tangled. 

“Maybe there’s a way.” Mirayne springs to her feet and she’s gone. 

Sansa continues to stitch. 

When Mirayne returns, she has various bottles with her. “I’m lucky because my hair is so fair. I can become any color I want. Red like you. Black like the sky. Even blue.”

Dyes. Mirayne has hair dyes. Sansa touches her own hair, it’s her mother’s hair,  _ Tully  _ hair, but it’s too obvious out here. Sansa glances at Mirayne. “Your mother commissioned me to make you a dress.”

Mirayne looks over. “I know.”

“What would you do if I altered it to your tastes instead?”

Mirayne’s face lights up the way Sansa knew it would. “I’m going to be the most beautiful maiden at the dance.”

***

Sansa sits in bed, the blankets clutched to her chest even though she’s in her shift. Nothing has happened on the road, too often she bunks with both Jaime and Brienne, and they’re all too tired to spend extra energy on...marital duties. 

Still, when Jaime enters their room, he pauses at the sight of her. Or rather, at the sight of her hair, as dark as the night sky. It might be more blue than black in the light, but it doesn’t matter. It isn’t red. Sansa has enough of the dye to last a long time, especially if they continue to taking sparing baths. 

“My lady,” Jaime breathes. 

“I thought about cutting it, but I couldn’t bring myself to.” She touches the end of her braid. “If my vanity gets me killed I suppose it’s a good lesson.”

“We leave in two days,” Jaime tells her. He climbs into her bed. 

Brienne takes the pallet on the floor. 


	5. Chapter 5

One night, Jaime points to where the road forks. “That way is Harrenhal. It was where my father kept his forces until he decided the Twins would be more advantageous. This will be an interesting war with one general holed up at the Twins and another at Moat Cailin.”

“Moat Cailin’s never been taken from the south,” Sansa says, remembering her history. 

“Maybe they’ll call a truce and each side can return home,” Brienne says. 

“Once each side has what they want,” Sansa says. She knows what her brother wants, her and Arya returned. And thanks to Jaime, she knows what Tywin wants. 

***

Sansa convinces Brienne to make camp with Lady while she and Jaime go into a village to hear what rumors have spread. Sansa doesn’t wear her hood up, her dark hair serving as a disguise. Jaime keeps his hood up, and she pulls him behind her as she offers the innkeeper a girlish giggle.

“Recently married,” she says. “So we only need one room.” She looks back at Jaime, love in her eyes. 

The innkeeper doesn’t look convinced. “Why’s he hiding his face then?”

“Not everyone was pleased. But we said our vows. That’s what’s important, right?” She says it earnestly even as she holds out a coin.  _ That  _ is what’s truly important and the innkeeper snatches it from her.

They’re given a room upstairs. Sansa’s grateful for a bed rather than the hard ground. There’s even a bath waiting for her. She doesn’t soak as long as she wishes, because her husband also needs a bath. Once they’re clean, she looks from his fair locks to her dye. He sees her gaze and squares his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. Then he gives her a nod.

She works the dye into his hair. His hair is long, the cut jagged because they only have swords and daggers to cut with. Between the new color, the cut, and his unkempt beard, he no longer looks like the golden heir of House Lannister. He and Sansa go downstairs to eat together and they don’t draw any undue attention.

“I heard Tywin made it to the Twins before the Stark brat. His sister supposedly opened the gates to him.”

“I thought the brat was marrying a Frey?”

“I heard he married someone else.”

It’s important gossip, and she eats in silence so she and Jaime and hear all of it. By the end of dinner what they’ve gathered is that the northern and southern armies have picked their holds and they’re fortifying them. Also, her brother could’ve made it to the Twins except he made a few exceedingly poor choices. 

“I’ve seen the Freys,” Jaime says as he shucks his clothes for the night. “I don’t blame your brother.”

“You did your duty,” she points out. “I did mine. My brother couldn’t be bothered to do his? And with a Tully advising him?” She shakes her head. “I’m surprised none of his men abandoned him.” She catches Jaime’s look and smiles. “We take our vows very seriously in the north.”

She eases the tie from her hair and unwinds her braid. It’s been too long since she properly brushed her hair. She’s surprised when her husband eases the brush from her hands. “Let me,” he says. 

He brushes her hair until there isn’t a tangle left. Then he keeps going as if it soothes him the way it soothes her. When he finally sets the brush down, he runs his fingers through her hair instead. “I miss the red,” he admits. 

“One day,” she says. She turns to him. They’re closer than they have been in a long time and finally with some privacy. She knows what Tywin wants, and she knows how to get it. She offers her husband a smile and sits astride him. “We have our own room tonight.”

“My lady,” he begins, but his protests die when she presses her lips to his. 

***

Their time at the inn is too short, but they can’t leave Brienne on her own, and they still have a lot of ground to cover. When they meet up with Brienne, the woman looks between them as if trying to figure something out. When Sansa simply smiles and says nothing, Brienne sighs. 

Sansa encourages that they stop for information as often as they dare. Each night she can secure an inn for herself and her husband, she spreads her legs for him. Gods willing, she’ll have a babe in her belly soon. 

He seems to like her, even with her dark hair. It’s odd seeing his own hair different, but even with it, he’s still her husband. He still wants to please her, still wants to touch her, taste her. He, reluctantly, covers her mouth with his hand so no one else can hear her pleasure. One day, they’ll have a castle and their own chambers, and she will cry out as loudly as he’d like. 

_ A Lannister always pays their debts, and I owe you my life _ . She smiles at her husband as they continue on their journey. 

They’ve taken to riding during daylight now. They’re less likely to be found by Cersei’s riders and Tywin’s spies. More likely to be found by raiders. They’ve passed Crossroads Inn, a few days since they skirted the large settlement when they hear sounds of battle. Brienne and Jaime exchange a glance.

Lady lifts her head and takes off. Sansa doesn’t think. She urges her horse forward, after her direwolf. Jaime curses and Brienne calls her name, but she doesn’t slow down. She pauses as she sees men fighting men. There’s a boy in the mix, little but fierce, stabbing with his sword. Lady takes down a man with a nasty smile. No, not Lady. Another direwolf. 

Sansa gasps and it draws attention to her. Another man, another nasty smile. His sword is covered in blood, but he doesn’t sheathe it as he comes toward her. “You’re far from home, little girl.”

“You don’t know where my home is,” Sansa says. Her voice trembles. Where is her husband? Where is Brienne? The man reaches for the reins of her horse. There’s a blur then Lady catches his arm in her jaw. He screams as she takes him down. 

Brienne and Jamie thunder past her on their horses. They strike down anyone who moves. When the violence is over, the forest floor is littered with bodies. Only two survive, a young man and an even younger boy. Only, when Sansa gets a better look at the boy--

“Arya?” she gasps. 

The boy-- _ her sister _ \--stares. She looks at Lady before her face breaks into a smile. “Sansa!”

The run toward each other. They embrace, holding onto each other for dear life. Sansa pets her sister’s hair, chopped short but somehow fitting. Her sister in breeches and a vest, killing men with a sword. How? Why? 

“And who are you?” Brienne demands.

“Uh, Gendry, if it please you, my lady.”

“Seven hells,” Jaime curses. “You’re one of the bastards.”

In an instant, Arya rips herself free of Sansa’s arms. She jumps between the boy and Jaime, her sword raised. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave my sister and my friend alone and be on your way.”

Sansa sighs. “Arya, you cannot run my husband through with your sword. My lord, do you know this man?”

Jaime studies Gendry, waiting for a protest. When it doesn’t come, he explains. “Robert Baratheon sired many children. Most were killed by Joffrey’s orders. Some clearly escaped.”

“I was being sent to the wall, ser. It didn’t quite go as planned.”

“I can see that. I’m sure it’ll be an interesting story how you and Arya Stark ended up in the same company. Let’s take what we can here and move on before anyone finds us.”

Arya ruthlessly strips men of their valuables and rummages through their pockets. Sansa and Arya are placed on the same horse. The other two are used to hold their new bounty. When Sansa tries to protest, her husband gives her a look and she falls silent. If he wants to walk then she supposes it’s his own choice.

When they stop for the night, they feast on a deer Nymeria and Lady brought down. The direwolves are given the best cuts of meat as a reward. Sansa eats without tasting, she’s learned the importance of keeping up her strength. Once they’ve had their fill and the wolves are gnawing on bones, Jaime turns to Gendry and Arya. “The full story now.”

“You first,” Arya says.

Jaime smiles. “I asked first.”

“She’s the child not you,” Sansa admonishes.

“I’m not a child.” Arya’s gaze is hard as she turns it on her sister. “I was there when father was beheaded. Yoren got me out. Set me for the Wall. At least Jon and Uncle Benjen would be there. But Lannister men overtook us. I thought they were looking for me.”

“They were looking for me,” Gendry says. 

“We escaped. Ended up at Harrenhal.” A look passes between the two of them. “I spied on Tywin, helped Robb. We escaped again. Now we’re here.”

Jaime laughs, shocking everyone. “My father wanted to know who the spy in his camp was. Turned out, he was feeding information to the Starks himself.” He laughs again, uncaring as Arya reaches for her sword.

“Your father?”

Jaime holds his arms out, inviting her to look at him. “You don’t recognize a Lannister on sight? Jaime Lannister, at your service.”

Arya shakes her head. “Robb has you captured.”

“Clearly not.”

Arya’s gaze slowly travels to Sansa. “You called him your husband. Engaged to Joffrey, married to a  _ Lannister _ . Did you spread your legs for every man in King’s Landing?”

Lady growls a warning. Jaime reaches for his sword, but Sansa puts a hand on his arm. “When Joffrey beheaded father, he called me the daughter of a traitor and broke off our engagement.”

“Am I supposed to cry for you?”

“He ordered the kingsguard to beat me,” Sansa says and Jaime sucks in a breath even as her sister doesn’t react. “He said a man was never supposed to lift a hand to his lady. So he made his men do it instead. They hurt me. They tore at my clothes. He brought me out every day to see the heads of our household stuck on spikes.” Sansa’s voice is faraway, but it’s better this way. “He couldn’t marry me so he created a tournament for my hand.”  _ For my maidenhood. _ “His champion was the Mountain. I’m fortunate that mother enabled Ser Jaime to escape in time to win the tournament.”

“Mother?” Arya shakes her head. “She wouldn’t.”

“I vowed I would return both Stark girls to Lady Catelyn,” Brienne says. 

“We could split up,” Jaime suggests. “The little one doesn’t seem too fond of me.”

“No!” The word is out of Sansa’s mouth before she can help it, urgent and desperate, showing too much. Any of these people can use her weakness against her, but she couldn’t help it. She’s been without her family since her father’s head was removed from his body. She won’t lose them again now. “Please.” She doesn’t know who she’s begging, her husband or her sister. “Can we please get along?”

Sansa can end this war. She knows she can. She  _ isn’t  _ a stupid little girl. She knows how to broker peace. If Arya’s with them it will be even better. Her mother will have Arya when Sansa...when Sansa does what she has to do. 

“Whatever,” Arya says. “You bring us back and Robb will kill you.”

Jaime shrugs. “It’s the most likely outcome.”

“Then why do it?”

“I made a deal with your mother. I intend to uphold my end of it. That and Brienne’s been a good influence. I ought to hate you for that, by the way.”

Brienne rolls her eyes but doesn’t respond otherwise.

“We were going there anyway,” Gendry says. “Now there’s more of us in case we have to fight again.”

“I don’t trust any of you,” Arya says. “I sleep with a sword, and I won’t hesitate to stab you if you deserve it.”

It’s the best promise Sansa will get from her sister. It will have to do.

***

Now that their band is up to five, they don’t stop as frequently. They’re less likely to be confused for who they are, Cersei only has spies looking for a party of three, but there’s no need to waste time with nice beds and baths. It means Sansa hasn’t lain with her husband for quite some time but she’s beginning to think it doesn’t matter.

She hasn’t bled since they were in King’s Landing. She isn’t sure how long they’ve been on the road but surely long enough that it should have come. She’s dreaded it, it’s enough trouble when she has baths and fresh clothes and maids to help her. But on the road like this?

She wants to ask how Lady Brienne stands it, but she doesn’t want to invite questions about her own cycle. She takes to lying on her back at night, her hands on her stomach. Is there life in there? Is a babe beginning to grow? How much longer until Moat Cailin? Will she show when she reunites with her family? 

She makes it a point to eat at every meal even when it doesn’t look appetizing. She eats for more than just herself now. She can tell it pleases her husband, he’s quick to give her seconds, glaring at Arya or Gendry as if he thinks they’ll scold her for taking more. Even Brienne takes to nodding encouragingly at her. 

Still, even without the opportunity to be with her husband in an intimate way, she lies with him to sleep. Brienne tries to protest the first night, but it’s a bedroll under the stars. It isn’t like they’ll couple with an audience. And even if they did, they’re married. They’re allowed. 

But they don’t. Instead, after a long day on the road, when her husband’s feet are sore from walking, she rubs them for him. The first time, he tries to pull back, but she simply stares him down until he places his feet back in her lap.

“I have a horse. Let me do this for you.”

He does. And, once they’re both situated for the night, he presses a kiss to her lips, gentle and sweet, and she wonders if he loves her.

***

“You’re getting fat,” Arya says one day. 

Sansa looks down at her stomach. She doesn’t have a bump or anything so obvious but she is bigger than she once was. She glances at her husband, wondering if he’s displeased with a fat wife. 

“Good,” Jaime says, startling both her and Arya. “You’re finally eating enough. And you don’t have your stupid corsets trying to squeeze the life out of you.”

“I spend most of my day on a horse. Perhaps I should walk.” Sansa knows it won’t trim her waist down any. She’ll grow much larger before this is over, but no one needs to know yet. Sometimes, babes are lost early in a pregnancy. Especially with no maester to watch over her, she’s afraid of what may happen. She wants to ask how much longer until Moat Cailin, but she isn’t a child. They’ll arrive when they arrive. There’s nothing they can do to hurry the journey.

“Your sister is being cruel,” Brienne says with sharp reproach in her tone. “And you’re not fat. You’re healthy.”

“Healthier on the run than in King’s Landing.” Jaime shakes his head. “I would say I didn’t believe it but I very much do.”

“I wonder if Lady Margaery has wed Joffrey yet,” Sansa says. 

“We can stop at the next inn for news,” Jaime offers.

Sansa glances at him to find him already looking at her. She ducks her head to hide her blush. 

***

To her surprise, it’s decided she and Jaime should go to an inn. She won’t turn down the opportunity even if she’s nervous to be bared before him. Maybe he won’t want to bed her. The heated look he sends her as they walk into the small village tells her that won’t be the case. 

They get themselves a room. Sansa takes the first bath. When she’s done, she dyes her hair again. Like the last time, she hopes this will be the last. She dresses and when Jaime is ready, they go down for supper.

A few gentle inquiries and they find out that the wedding has taken place but Joffrey died during the wedding feast. Jaime’s startled by the news, but Sansa listens as she learns of the second wedding, Margaery to Tommen, this one successful. 

“He’s still too young to make heirs, but they had a bedding,” a wrinkled woman assures Sansa. “We finally have a proper king and queen again.”

“And the queen mother?” Sansa prompts. 

“Grief stricken.”

“Not like it matters.” Another woman joins their table. She glances at Jaime but dismisses him in an instant. “I heard Stannis Baratheon is making his move while the Lannisters fight up here.”

“Who cares who sits on a bloody throne?” This comes from a man at the table next to theirs. “Does it change how long it takes the crops to grow? Does it make the soil easier to toil? Fuck the crown.”

“Fuck the crown!” the patrons chorus. 

Jaime surprises her by raising his mug and joining their cries.

Despite the somber mood of their meal, Jaime seems to still want her when they retire to their rooms. She has this problem now, whenever someone mentions an inn, her breathing speeds up and she shifts from foot to foot know what will happen. 

Only this time, she’s a little worried. She hasn’t bared herself to her husband in quite some time. Will he notice the difference? She doesn’t want to keep this secret from him, but men do things when they learn they’ll be fathers. Will he try to bring her back to King’s Landing? Will he change course and go to the Twins? She can’t risk it. She must be delivered to Moat Cailin.

She wears her shift to bed and slides under the blankets. When Jaime sees her, he tsks. “You’re beautiful, my lady. I’ll prove it to you.” And with a wicked smile, he pulls the blankets down, pushes her clothes up, and presses a kiss to her belly. 

“Oh,” she breathes, imagining that she is truly with child, that he knows. She covers her mouth with her own hand because her husband is too far down to do it himself. He looks up at her, heat and desire in his gaze and moves his mouth lower. 

***

Arya glares when Sansa and Jaime return to their group. Gendry seems suspicious, but he doesn’t say anything. They tell them about Joffrey’s death and Margaery’s marriage and the rumors of Stannis’s invasion.

“It will give my father incentive to find peace with the North,” Jaime says. “He isn’t foolish enough to fight Starks in the North and Stannis in the South.”

“But first we have to make it to Moat Cailin,” Sansa says. She carefully doesn’t look at Jaime. “No more inns. No more long rests. We push for our goal. We need to solve this war for Lord Tywin so he can turn his attention toward Stannis and we can return home.”

“Home,” Arya sighs. “I’ll never leave again.”

_ Not until it’s your turn to marry _ , Sansa thinks. Wisely, she keeps her council to herself.

***

Sansa takes to wearing her cloak at all times. It hides her midsection which undoubtedly grows larger with each day. She is with child. She takes to petting her stomach at night when it’s dark and no one can see her. She thinks of names, strong northern names for her child. Does she dare name her daughter Lyanna, after the woman this war began over? Does she name her son Eddard after her father?

Deep down, she knows she won’t choose her babe’s name. She may not even be able to keep him or her. 

_ Family. Duty. Honor. _

She trembles and her husband draws her close to comfort her.


	6. Chapter 6

Finally, Moat Cailin is within their sights. It’s a shadow of what it once was, but it still serves its purpose. It protects the North from the South. Sansa dismounts from her horse. “I will walk the rest of the way,” she says. She tucks her arm through her husband’s. She will not sit useless atop of horse as her brother’s army tries to kill her husband.

She can feel the tension in her husband’s body. He knows he’s likely walking to his death and he’s doing this anyway. For a promise he made her mother. But he made vows to her as well, and she doesn’t intend to let him break them with his death. 

They’re a quiet group as they approach the Gatehouse Tower. Somehow, they grow even quieter when riders come out to meet them. They small party is led by Wendel Manderly. He pauses when he spots Brienne. 

“The Giant of Tarth,” he breathes. He looks at her companions, and Sansa holds her head high and smiles as he doesn’t recognize her. Arya either. 

“My companions and I seek an audience with Lady Catelyn,” Brienne says. Her words are clear and her voice doesn’t waver. “Will she invite us into her house and break bread with us?” She speaks the words Sansa coached her to say.

Wendel hesitates. “I will ask the lady. You will stay here until I return with word.”

He and his small guard ride back for the gate. Arya scoffs once he’s out of earshot. “Eating together won’t protect anyone they want dead.” She stares down Jaime in case anyone missed her meaning.

“It’s sacred,” Sansa says. She will stack the deck with every card she can. She can only pray it will be enough. 

“They have to agree to it.”

“Mother will,” Sansa says confidently. She holds her husband’s arm tighter. 

When Wendel returns, he escorts them to the Gatehouse Tower. It’s been renovated… somewhat, in order to host the King in the North and his council. When they enter the room, Robb and their mother both come to their feet. 

Arya starts forward, but Sansa holds an arm out, keeping her still. “First, we break bread.” Sansa, hood still up, holds her mother’s gaze.

“You must be hungry from your trip,” Catelyn says. “Robb, if you please.”

Robb waves a hand and servants spring into action. Sansa watches her brother from across the room. He’s older than she remembers. There’s hair on his chin as if makes him a man. He’s fought a war, won battles, is he still her brother? Or is he this supposed King in the North?

Once the table is set, Sansa allows her group to approach the table. She sits with Jaime on one side and Brienne on the other. She removes her hood and her mother gasps. 

“It will wash out,” Sansa says. “But we couldn’t risk being seen.” She dips her bread in her stew and takes a bite. She nudges Jaime to do the same and stares at him until he does. Then, she looks across the table at her brother and mother. Their plates are untouched. “You have no appetite?”

She holds her breath until they eat. Only then does she allow herself to relax a fraction of an inch. “I thank you for your hospitality,” she says.

“My dear, there’s no need to be so formal,” Catelyn tells her.

“And thank you for risking your king’s wrath to rescue me.” Sansa doesn’t look at her brother, but she still sees him draw up, tense. “It is a kindness I will not forget. Lady Brienne, thank you for serving my family honorably. You have returned the two Stark girls to their mother as you promised.”

“House Stark is in your debt,” Catelyn says.

“And who are you?” Robb asks, pointing a finger at Gendry.

“A friend,” Arya snaps. She seems as wary as Sansa, but she wolfs down the food they’ve been given. When she finishes her plate, she casts about for more. Sansa hands her plate over. Arya bares her teeth. “Now you worry about being fat?”

Sansa’s fingers twitch but she doesn’t touch her stomach. “I imagine there will be corsets in my future again.”

“You look good when you’re healthy,” Jaime tells her.

Sansa blushes as she remembers how enthusiastically he had  _ shown  _ her at their last inn. “Your opinion can’t be trusted. You always think I look good.”

“Kingslayer?” Robb hisses. 

Jaime smirks and doesn’t reach for his sword even as every other man in the room does. “Come now. We’re brothers now.”

“Seize him,” Robb orders.

“Robb,” Catelyn begins. 

“No,” Sansa orders. When her brother’s men continued to advance she moves so she stands behind her husband’s chair. She places her hands on his shoulders, making her allegiance clear. “I swore vows before the gods and men. I am his and he is mine. Anything done to him shall be done to me as well.”

“My lady,” Jaime says. He twists to look at her but she meets his gaze evenly.

“You saved my life,” she reminds him. “And a Lannister always pays their debts.”

A true smile crosses her husband’s face. “I suppose your brother would not offer us chambers to retire to. I find you particularly beautiful in this moment.”

“Enough!” Robb growls. “I ought to kill you.”

Jaime shrugs as if he thinks Robb won’t do it. “Your mother offered me my release on the condition that I returned her daughters to her. I have.”

“You married my sister!”

“I wasn’t given much of a choice.”

Sansa’s loud sigh quiets the men for a moment. She looks over her husband’s head at her mother. “Perhaps we should discuss this. They do not seem capable.”

Catelyn tilts her head as she considers her daughter. “You’ve changed.”

“I was a girl when father took me to King’s Landing. I’m now a woman.”

“Because of this--” Robb can’t even finish his thought.

“I watched father beheaded,” Sansa says, her voice quiet. “I begged the king for his life and I screamed when he killed him instead. He killed the entire household, put their heads on spikes. He would take me to them every day and make me gaze upon them. Whenever you won a battle, he ordered his Kingsguard to beat me. Sometimes they stripped me first. The king was cruel. His mother was crueler. Ser Jaime rescued me at my mother’s request. He didn’t turn me into a woman, but he has made me a better one.” She presses her lips to his dark hair. Perhaps tonight they can begin to scrub the dye out. 

“My sweet girl,” Catelyn says, tears in her eyes. 

“I would like to retire with my husband now,” Sansa says. “Tomorrow, we should discuss terms of peace to propose to Tywin Lannister.”

Lord Karstark laughs. “Your brother is king, not you. We’re killing every last Lannister in Westeros.”

“Is that true, your Grace?” Sansa asks. Robb flinches at the title but it doesn’t deter her. “You would kill your good-brother? Your sister?” She doesn’t give him the time to answer. “You won’t tonight. You won’t while we stay here with you. You have extended guest right, and the North honors its vows. Now, may we please be shown to a place to sleep? It has been a long journey to be reunited with you.”

“Sansa--” Robb pushes to his feet. Emotion chokes his words. “We haven’t even had a proper hello.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted one.” She holds herself still, waiting for his cue. She suffered under Cersei, learned that kindness could be taken away, that it could be a trick. Does her brother mean to betray her? She looks around the hall at his men, all prepared to spill blood for him. She should’ve had Brienne bring Arya here alone. She should’ve turned off for the Twins with Jaime. She has what Tywin wants. Robb doesn’t want her. He didn’t even try to save her. 

“You’re right, it has been a long journey.” Catelyn rises gracefully to her feet. “Tonight, you should rest. There will be plenty of time to talk.”

“Can I finish eating?” Arya asks.

“Of course.” Catelyn comes around the side of the long table. She presses a kiss to her youngest daughter’s forehead. “I’ll show your sister and your good-brother to their rooms and then I’ll return for you. In the meantime, eat your fill.”

Sansa takes her husband’s hand and they follow her mother out of the hall. Behind them, a squire carries their things. They don’t have many but there’s enough for her to change clothes once she’s bathed. Her mother leads her to a small set of rooms. She lingers once they’re there, stepping into Sansa’s space and cupping her cheek. “Oh, my daughter.”

Sansa leans in until their foreheads touch. Tears prickle at her eyes. “I missed you mother. I’m sorry I’ve made things difficult. Robb...he won’t…” Sansa can’t finish her thought. She knows what Joffrey would do, what he had done, when she defied him. Robb was a different kind of king. He had to be.

“Men have their pride and it can be their downfall, but I trust it won’t be your brother’s.”

“I won’t be a problem for long,” Sansa promises. She can feel her husband’s gaze on her, even as he moves to sort through their bags. 

“I just got you back,” Catelyn says.

Sansa clasps her mother’s cheek, mirroring her own mother’s motion. “I am your daughter. I was always meant to leave home and live in my lord’s house. I know Robb and his bannermen don’t want my husband here, but I belong with him now. We will end this war and once Westeros has peace, we will visit each other.”

“We will discuss this at the small council tomorrow, but you are your father’s daughter. I’m sure I will have trouble swaying your from your path.”

“I’m your daughter as well. Family. Duty. Honor. I haven’t forgotten. Joffrey held a tournament for my hand as another cruelty in a long line of them. But he is dead and I still live. The marriage he brought to pass will heal our lands. He will not win. We must convince Robb he cannot win against a dead man. I will need your help tomorrow, mother.”

“You shall have it,” Catelyn promises. 

She leaves and once the door is closed, Sansa bolts it. 

“No Lady?” Jaime asks. 

“She’s with Grey Wind and Nymeria. We’ve broken bread here. They will not dare spill our blood.” Sansa’s sighs, the exhaustion from the long journey catching up to her. “Do you know what I wish?”

Her husband smiles. “While you spoke with your mother, I spoke with the maid. There’s a hot bath through this door.”

“I could kiss you,” Sansa tells him.

“I hope you will. I hope you won’t mind if I join you.”

Sansa hesitates and the teasing smile slips from her husband’s face. He appears hurt as if he thinks she’s casting him aside now that she’s amongst her family. She goes to him before she can withdraw completely. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” She reaches for the clasp of her cloak. When it falls to the floor, his gaze searches her.

It stops on her belly, still small, but unmistakably round. Her husband gasps and falls to his knees before her. He touches his hands to her stomach then his cheek. “I’m to be a father.”

“In a way.” Sansa doesn’t want to crush her husband’s happiness, but she must guard him the way she’s guarded herself. “We must negotiate a peace. And we can only do that if we have something each side wants. The Starks have been returned home. I don’t know what else Robb wants but we’ll learn tomorrow. And you told me what your father wanted above anything.”

“His legacy. You think he would take our babe?”

Sansa runs her hands through her husband’s dark locks. “I know we can’t afford continuing the war if that is his price. If he wants our firstborn then he shall have it. I trust you’ll give me another child.”

“As many as you want,” Jaime promises.

“But first, a bath. And to wash this damned dye out of our hair.”

Her husband tsks, but he’s grinning as he rises to his feet again. “Swearing, my lady? You’ve been on the road far too long with nothing but soldiers for company.”

“I’ve had my husband and no privacy.” She looks around the small rooms. “We have a bed but still very little privacy. I will have to cover my mouth again.”

“I look forward to the day when you no longer have to.”

Sansa smiles and allows him to help her with her clothes.

***

She shows up the small council meeting the next morning in another billowing cloak but with her bright red hair loose around her face. Her husband escorts her, his beard and hair scrubbed blond again. Robb’s bannermen scowl at the sight of him. 

“Lady Sansa, you do not have to accept this man as your husband,” Lord Umber says.

“No? I gave my word to him.” She looks around the room until her gaze lands on her brother. “But apparently promises of marriage don’t carry as much weight in the North as they once did.”

Robb isn’t the only one who bristles, but he is the one who speaks. “You dare speak to me like that?”

“You were supposed to come save me! You never would’ve made it to King’s Landing without the Freys’ granting you passage through the Twins. You know they have their pride. Do you really think they would have welcomed you after you passed over one of theirs for the daughter of a minor lord?”

“I love her,” Robb protests.

“Oh,  _ love _ .” Sansa almost spits the word.

“Be careful, that’s your queen you speak of,” her brother warns. 

She already has one queen who wants her dead. Why not a second? But Sansa keeps that to herself. “Remind me of her name before you wed her? Jeyne…”

“Westerling,” her brother answers.

“House Westerling of the Crag.” While her brothers and sister played with swords, she practiced her sewing and learned her history. “Honor, not honors. They’re sworn to Casterly Rock. You stand and lecture me for a husband I did not choose when you chose her as your bride, forsaking the one you were promised to?”

Robb draws breath to fight, but he is nothing compared to Joffrey or Cersei. She will weather his rage. She will stand tall at the end of it. 

“You didn’t come here to argue with your brother,” Jaime reminds her. He touches the small of her back, touching her stomach would be too obvious, but she receives the message nonetheless. She cannot afford to be selfish.

She offers her brother a deep curtsy. “I apologize, your Grace. Let me offer my amends. What are your terms for peace? My husband and I will bring them to Lord Tywin. We will help bring an end to this war.”

“Terms for peace?” Robb repeats.

“You started this war because of father and to bring Arya and I home. Joffrey, the man who murdered our father, is dead. Arya and I are here with you. Do you want the Iron Throne?”

“No.” Robb actually recoils from the thought.

Sansa fights not to sigh. “Then what is it you want?”

“Every last bloody Lannister to hang,” Lord Karstark says. 

Sansa ignores him. She focuses on her brother. 

“An independent north,” her brother finally says. Jaime isn’t the only one in the room to gasp. “I will not bend the knee to the brother of my father’s murderer. And I will not ask the same of my bannermen. Nor will I ask them to return home with nothing after they have fought bravely and lost their sons. We fought for the North and the North is what we will have.”

“We will bring your terms to Lord Tywin.”

“No.” Robb taps the map spread out before him. “We’ll meet halfway and discuss this properly. Kin-- _ Ser Jaime _ , does your father have the authority to speak for the southern crown?”

“He does, your Grace,” Jaime answers, behaving himself for once. 

Robb nods. “We’ll send a raven and make an offer to discuss peace. If he does not accept then we will march south and destroy your father’s forces. We will not stop until we take King’s Landing, and your sister will die for her son’s crimes. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Jaime answers evenly.

***

Tensions are high in the tent pitched between the Twins and Moat Cailin, the place where, if the gods were good, peace will be brokered. Sansa tried to insist on a proper meal before they talked, but Robb wouldn’t invoke guest rights when he couldn’t be certain Tywin’s camp would honor them. 

The Lannister patriarch is a severe man. He and Robb stare each other down from opposite sides, and she can’t help but notice the vast differences between them. Tywin is a veteran military leader, known for his pragmatism and ruthlessness. Her brother is a  _ boy _ . She wonders at all the victories he won, she knows them all, Joffrey made sure of it. Was it luck that brought her brother victory? Could he have strung together enough victories in battle to win the war?

Watching Tywin’s gaze flick over their party, she shivers. No, her brother will not win if this continues. He has to pass through the Twins to march south. The Twins where Tywin Lannister’s sister lives and where Robb slighted Lord Frey. Robb’s army would never make it through. 

Tywin’s gaze lands on Jaime and his expression darkens. “Your sister was worried for you. You disappeared without a word.”

“Lady Catelyn Stark released me from my imprisonment in exchange for bringing her daughters home. I thought if I disclosed my plans then there were those in King’s Landing who would try to stop me.” It’s a sensible, diplomatic answer, so of course her husband has to quirk his lips in a smile. “I wanted the approval of my good-mother.”

“And now you’re a hostage again?”

Jaime turns to Sansa. “Have you shackled me, my lady?”

“As surely as you have me, my lord.” She turns to Tywin, but her words are for her brother as much as for her good-father. “My husband and I swore our vows to each other, and we will not break them. Let us pave the way for the peace brokered today. Lannister and Stark joined.”

Tywin doesn’t look impressed, but Sansa’s not sure anything impresses him. He takes a seat on one side of the large, imposing table. Robb sits on the other side. 

“You come asking for peace. Have you realized you can’t win this war?”

Robb stiffens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “I rallied my banners and marched south for my father and my sisters. My father is dead, and his killer is also dead. My sisters have been returned to me. I am willing to set aside my quarrel with the Crown.”

“You will scatter your army and return to your preparations for winter?” Tywin sounds skeptical.

Robb allows himself a small laugh. “With the correct agreement in place. Joffrey was murdered, I assume without your consent. And Ser Jaime returned my sisters after a deal brokered with my mother. You, the Crown, you have given me no reason to end this war. You will or I will continue to fight.”

“And what do you want?”

“The North.”

One of Tywin’s men protests, but the Lannister holds up his hand for silence. “You would have me carve out a piece of my grandson’s birthright and hand it over to you?”

Robb leans back in his chair, a smirk on his face. “You can always try and take it.”

“You’ll never make it past the Twins,” Tywin says.

“And you’ll never make it past Moat Cailin. The difference is, I don’t need to go south anymore.”

Tywin’s gaze flicks to Jaime. “No, I suppose you don’t. What are you offering me in exchange for this peace?”

“We’ve had word, Stannis Baratheon plans to lay siege to King’s Landing. I’m sure a military commander such as yourself can see the benefit in fighting a war on only one front.”

Tywin looks unimpressed. “Your wife is with child?”

Robb stiffens, caught off guard, but he nods. There’s no point in lying. 

“A marriage between your daughter, when she is born, and the prince of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Five Kingdoms,” Jaime says and Sansa elbows him. 

Tywin’s cold fury turns on his son. “You will return to Casterly Rock with your wife and be the heir you were born to be.”

“I will not make my sister your hostage again,” Robb says.

Tywin’s expression is condescending. “We’re brokering peace. Once we both fix our signatures to our agreement, there will be no hostages.”

“If I may be so bold.” Catelyn doesn’t wait for permission before she strides up to the table. There’s a map of Westeros laid out. She taps Moat Cailin. “This is the gateway between the North and the South, and it has sat empty for far too long. Give it to Lord Jaime and Lady Sansa. A symbol of the peace between us.”

“No,” Tywin says.

His voice is hard, no room for negotiation, but it’s only because he thinks no one in the room has something worth giving him. Sansa can see her mother’s position. What better family to put where the North and South join than the family which has joined North and South? She doesn’t want to live her life in Casterly Rock, so far away from everyone she loves. A glance at her husband shows he doesn’t seem particularly eager to go there either. Of course, she’s not sure what exactly he is eager for.

Not dying?

Becoming a soldier again?

They should’ve spoken before this. Nothing to be done for it now, though. Sansa steps forward, her cloak still draped around her. “What is it you truly want, Lord Tywin? Do you want your son in Casterly Rock? Or a Lannister of your line?”

Tywin gaze narrows, assessing.

Sansa takes a steady breath and reaches for the claps of her cloak. It falls to the floor, and the room draws its breath as they see her stomach, modestly rounded. She touches the bump. “If it will bring peace, my husband and I will give your our first child for you to raise as the future Lord or Lady of Casterly Rock while we stay here to show the kingdoms the power of unity.”

“You would give me your firstborn?” Tywin asks.

“I am young. There will be other children. My mother gave birth to five strong, healthy babes.”

Tywin looks over the map of Westeros again. “There are additional details for us to discuss. You will not give Stannis Baratheon permission to land his boats and invade from both north and south.”

“I will not,” Robb agrees.

Tywin plants his elbows on the table and leans forward. Robb does the same. Sansa, recognizing her role is done, slips out of the tent for some air. She isn’t surprised when her mother follows her out. 

They stand there for a moment, staring at each other, dozens, hundreds of words unspoken. Sansa makes a small sound, her mother takes a step and suddenly they’re holding each other as tightly as they can. Sansa draws a shuddering breath then another and tears fall freely down her cheeks.

“I’ve been so afraid,” she confesses. “All I wanted was to see you again.” She clutches her mother close. “Thank you for not sending me away.” She could’ve gone to Casterly Rock. If Robb and Tywin agreed, she would’ve done it without complaint. But Moat Cailin...it needs a lot of work, but she’ll be on the edge of the North. She’ll be able to visit Winterfell. Her siblings will be able to visit her. She won’t be alone anymore. 

“I could never. You’re my daughter. I would’ve done anything to bring you home. I admit, it didn’t go quite as I planned, but the gods have a way of making sure things work out.” Catelyn steps back to look at her daughter, but she keeps her hands on Sansa’s arms, keeping her from being too far away. “Tell me the truth. Your husband…”

Sansa waits for a moment, but it’s clear her mother doesn’t know how to finish. “I cannot give your the truth unless you ask me a question.”

“He is a good husband?”

There are a thousand questions tied up into one, and Sansa doesn’t know how to begin answering them all. “Yes.” It’s an inadequate answer, her mother deserves more. Her husband deserves more. “When I was younger, I dreamed of marrying a golden knight. Jaime’s not the man from my songs. But he’s not the man from your whispers either. I know he fought Robb on the battlefield, and there will be those in the North who never forgive him for his name and his actions. But he’s been kind to me. When no one else in the world was, he was kind.”

Her mother touches her stomach. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

“I must. You know, Cersei and Joffrey tormented me for being my father’s daughter. But everyone forgets that children have mothers too.” Sansa meets her mother’s gaze evenly, her tears gone. “Family. Duty. Honor. It will hurt to give up my first child, but if one small action can stop a war? Father--”

Sansa swallows the lump in her throat. “Father did what he thought was right, and he was imprisoned for treason. I convinced him to lie. To go back on his word to appease the king. The honorable Ned Stark, his reputation meant so much to him. And he was willing to give it up for a chance to save us. I can give up this. Besides, as I said, there will be more children.”

“Oh?”

Sansa feels a blush creep up her cheeks. “I’m married,” she reminds her mother. There’s no need to blush like a maiden. There is a babe in her belly, proof that she has been with her husband, but she still finds herself flustered. Who was she supposed to discuss this with? Cersei while she was in King’s Landing? Brienne once they were on the road? 

“And your husband is good in this way also?” There’s a spark in her mother’s eye and a smile tugging at her lips. 

“I--” Sansa ducks her head even though her mother is teasing. “I look forward to making our next child.”

Her mother laughs, bright and open and when she turns Sansa around, her husband is standing outside the command tent looking as though he’d been dealt a great blow by a war hammer. 

“You’re fortunate she’s happy,” Catelyn says. 

“I am. And I will do everything in my power to keep her happy.”

“We’ll have to discuss your household and rebuilding your keep. If she is amenable to it, I would like Lady Brienne to stay with you.”

“I would like that as well,” Sansa says. She links her arm through her husband’s. “Come, while the commanders work out their peace, let us figure out ours.”


End file.
